Missing
by Welsh mama
Summary: "If she had known then what she now knows, she would never have said it." When Sybil's flatmate disappears, the police are initially baffled. Sybil teams up with Emma's brother, Tom to search for the truth, but gradually they discover that Emma had secrets she wanted to keep hidden. As their own relationship begins to develop, can a broken family also start to heal? Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

_**The only way I could do another Sybil and Tom story was to make it a very different universe from Perfect Delivery/Walls come Tumbling Down, but I had an idea and I hope you like it. It's a much darker tale; I may up the rating to M at a later stage, if I'm brave enough. Please let me know what you think!**_

* * *

_If she had known then what she now knows, she would never have said it. A fairly innocuous remark, only teasingly intended, but the implication was, as it turns out, correct. If you knew in advance that your words to someone might be the last you ever exchange; what would you choose to say? _

ooOoo

It's a mundane Tuesday morning and she's trying to butter toast while standing up in their galley kitchen, leaning forward and pressing against the counter as Emma squeezes behind her to reach the sink. The radio presenter says that the forecast will be fine; London is experiencing an unexpected Indian summer before autumn takes its stranglehold and the temperatures inevitably begin to plummet. Sybil munches on her toast and taps her foot to the season's catchy hit, still frequently played as people resist the changing season and sense of new beginnings that September brings.

Emma washes up her bowl and mug, leaves them to dry on the draining board. Wiping her hands on a towel, she smiles as she looks out of the window.

"It's gonna be another lovely day!" she announces with a satisfied smile and Sybil makes a verbal noise of accord, still chewing on her breakfast. "I might be late home tonight…department drinks" she continues and Sybil swallows swiftly.

"Will you be home to watch that TV drama?" she asks. They've watched the first two episodes together and agree that it's an above average thriller. It's unusual to find something that they want to see together; their different lifestyles and tastes mean that their viewing habits don't usually collide. She misses that after living with Gwen, whose longstanding friendship and similar preferences meant that they often curled up adjacently on the sofa, even if it was to berate dubious plotlines and their plausibility.

"Maybe…" Emma replies "…record it for me if I'm not back, will you and I'll watch it tomorrow?" and Sybil nods.

Her flatmate stretches, palms aloft towards the ceiling as she prepares to leave and then gives an audible sigh.

"Actually I might be out tomorrow as well, thinking about it. It'll have to be Thursday."

Sybil grins "Out again?" she teases, although in reality she's envious. Emma's short term residence in London is compensated by a far more extensive social life than she has ever managed in seven years. "You little stop out; you'll get yourself a reputation!" The words are uttered and can never be retrieved. Emma smiles and gives no hint of offence. Walking past Sybil once again, she picks up her bag from the living room and heads for the front door.

"See ya!" she calls and with that, she's gone.

ooOoo

Sybil's pressed for time and dashes to get changed. She's working in the Urgent Care Unit at Guy's Hospital this week, covering for another doctor who's on annual leave, rather than A&E at St. Thomas' which is her usual base. She's used to the variation of shift work and finds it difficult to adjust to the standard working hours that her temporary post offers. There's a parcel to send for her sister's birthday and she wonders how she's going to find the time to visit the post office, indeed how anybody who works these hours can ever run their errands around their working life. However she finds a rolled up canvas bag in her bedroom and puts the present inside, choosing to take it with her in the hope she might have the chance to take a decent lunch break for once.

Her shift is busy and time passes quickly. It's not a role she would want on a permanent basis, but its novelty keeps her interest and she appreciates the lack of urgency as she oversees the cuts and swellings, retrieves a piece of Lego from the upper reaches of a toddler's nostril and listens to the war stories of a veteran who's in denial about his Parkinsons and has burnt himself on hot tea for the second time within a week. She's in the process of referring him for additional home help when Alex, the on-duty nurse turns the 'Closed' sign with a sigh of satisfaction and signifies that the day is nearly at an end.

There's been no opportunity to post her parcel so she rings Edith as she strolls unhurriedly back to the tube station and offers apologies that her gift is going to arrive late. Stepping out at Kennington and raising her face appreciatively at the dwindling sunshine, she steps into the 24-hour mini-market and buys a tub of pasta sauce, bagged salad and bottle of wine, grabbing the final copy of The Guardian from a shelf as she passes by to the tills.

She sits comfortably on her sofa dressed in leggings and a baggy t-shirt, newspaper laid out on the coffee table and wine glass within easy reach, while she leans forward with her pasta bowl, absent-mindedly spooning it into her mouth. She enjoys the camaraderie of sharing her living space but appreciates an evening of solitude nontheless. Emma doesn't return so as 9pm approaches, she sets the TV to record the programme, but decides to watch it regardless, becoming engrossed in the storyline and laughing when it makes her unexpectedly jump. She checks her email, replies briefly to Gwen who's checking in and reporting on developments with her latest conquest.

"_Don't fall for him too much – you have to come home again in February! Unless you're going to bring him back with you….?!"_ she types, pleased that her friend is enjoying her year's placement, but earnestly hoping that it doesn't become permanent. They've been friends since secondary school and contentedly shared a flat for over two years before Gwen was offered the opportunity to work in the Dublin office of her management consultancy firm, swapping with an Irish colleague. It had been Gwen's suggestion that Emma simply move into the flat in her place, avoiding any need for Sybil to move or find a new flatmate independently. It has been a simple and successful solution; although their friendship was never going to compete with the history she and Gwen share, Emma has proved to be an amiable companion, who offers no unsavoury habits and is frequently away at the weekends. At the placement's conclusion, she will return to Dublin and all being well, Gwen will move back in with Sybil.

There's no sign of Emma when Sybil goes to bed, so she leaves the hall light on as is their habit when one or the other is expected home. She sleeps deeply, with vivid dreams that confuse her at the time but are instantly forgotten as she wakes. Walking sleepily to the bathroom, she notes with surprise that the light remains on and wonders if Emma simply forgot to switch it off before she retired for the night. Her flatmate is usually prompt in rising, so when she hasn't appeared by the time Sybil emerges from the shower, the first note of concern is raised. Sybil tentatively knocks on her door and calls her name, softly at first and then in a firmer tone. On receiving no reply, she hesitantly opens the door, wondering if she might be disturbing an unexpected romantic tryst. However, the sun is streaming through Emma's open curtains and her bed is made; her dressing gown lying across the duvet where Sybil had seen her throw it from the doorway yesterday morning. Sybil is instinctively uneasy; Emma usually lets her know if she's going to be away overnight and she checks her phone to see if she has missed a text. With nothing pending, she logs quickly into her email but there has been no nocturnal activity and she frowns as she considers the implications. She's more responsible since she finished her foundation training and found a full time job. However, there were certainly times in the past when she's drunk more than intended and crashed at somebody's house rather than stagger home worse for wear and she doesn't begrudge Emma the opportunity. Her flatmate is eighteen months younger and nobody's life is in the balance if she's under par at work today.

She intends to send her a text for self-reassurance, but she hasn't allowed sufficient time once again and ends up running to the tube station in an attempt to make up for the longer journey to Guy's. As she munches on a shop bought sandwich at lunchtime, she remembers and fires off a quick message.

**Everything OK? R U home tonight?**

She checks her phone when the unit closes at 4pm, prior to finishing her paperwork, but there's been no response, so she rings her and leaves a message. When she leaves for home an hour later, there's still no reply, so she calls Emma's work number and frowns when it goes straight to voicemail. However, it's only as she arrives home and presses the flashing light on the answer machine that her nagging sensation of unease reaches another level.

"_Hi Emma, this is Nicole from work. Just checking that you're alright. Can you give us a call back?"_

Sybil presses 1471 but the number is withheld. She tries Emma's direct line again and is unsurprised by her lack of success. With relief she remembers that the office is open until 6pm and if she's swift, she might just catch a receptionist on the switchboard. She has no idea what Nicole's surname is, but mentions the department name and the call is quickly diverted.

"Hi, this is Emma's flatmate. I just got your message at home and was a bit concerned. Has Emma not been in today?"

"No, nor yesterday" replies Nicole and Sybil feels the soft ghost of a chill sweep cross her body, giving an involuntary shiver as she hears the enquiry. "Is she ill?"

"Um…I'm not sure…look, I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for this, so I'll make a couple of calls. Er…so she didn't go to your drinks event last night then?"

There is a pause. "What drinks event?" Nicole asks.

Sybil paces the flat, chewing a nail with indecision and feeling a growing knot of anxiety in her stomach as she tries to objectively consider what might have taken place. There has to be a reason behind Emma's absence, it's just a matter of figuring out a possible solution so that she can relax. Nothing wholly dreadful has ever happened in her life and she's sure that this is going to be a simple case of misunderstanding. By 8pm and having left two further messages on Emma's mobile, she wonders if there's been a family emergency and whether she's gone home to Dublin on impulse. She has no contact details for her mother; knows only the sketchy details of a deceased father, step-father she doesn't care for and a petulant teenage half-sister. She could try to trace the family home, although it's a common enough surname and she doesn't even know the Dublin suburb where she was raised. There are two brothers in England however; one up in Liverpool and the other in North London. The latter had helped her bring boxes up into the flat on the day she'd moved in. She remembers a sullen, dishevelled looking man who had seemed resentful at the intrusion to his day and who disappeared into their communal garden for a cigarette every half hour or so. He hasn't returned subsequently, but Emma often visits him at weekends and stays over. Surely he would know if there's a crisis back home, although it's possible that they've travelled back together. He's a journalist; the London correspondent for either the Irish Times or Irish Herald, she can't remember which and reads neither. But Emma looks at his articles online and claims that he's wildly talented.

Sybil walks into Emma's bedroom and looks around for any sign of an address book or diary. It appears that she took her laptop into work yesterday, so there's no other way of easily retrieving contact details. Hesitantly and feeling a displaced sensation of guilt, she opens drawers and glances inside, reluctant to start rummaging around for she feels sure that phone numbers would not be hidden away under underwear and t-shirts. There's one drawer which contains miscellaneous paperwork, but she finds only credit card receipts, bank statements and a manufacturer's guarantee for her hairdryer.

She returns to her own bedroom, lifts her iPad from the bedside cabinet and sits down, flipping open the cover and pausing momentarily before she types into the search engine.

'_Tom Branson journalist'_

Numerous links appear and she clicks on one, a report on the incarceration of an Irish national for fraud last year and scrolls through it urgently. Concluding the article is an email address, tbranson at irishherald shows that it would reach him directly, but she doesn't feel that this is the type of enquiry that he ought to receive in writing. She looks up a telephone number for the newspaper, is unsurprised to learn that its switchboard closes at 5.30 but at the end of the automated message, there's an out of hours number, a plea for urgent enquiries only. It rings for some time and she expects to leave a message, but a gruff male voice answers and she politely explains her predicament.

"I'm a friend of his sister and there's a bit of a problem…" she explains "I really need to reach him." She has no knowledge of whether the British Data Protection Act has its origin in Brussels or Westminster, but she expects to have to leave her own number as a precaution, so is startled when the voice returns and offers her a mobile number before abruptly hanging up.

She takes a deep breath, anxious about the potential worry she may be about to cause, but hoping he will provide resolution to her search, then punches the number into the keyboard of her phone. He answers on the second ring.


	2. Chapter 2

He reaches for the phone as soon as it rings, impatient for the Prison Service figures that Nick has promised so that he can try to finalise his article tonight. With ill-disguised irritation he listens to a female voice and is anxious to curtail the call so that Nick can reach him. He hears the name Sybil and for a brief moment is transported back in time to his teenage years, sitting on the sofa with Da and Kieran, watching re-runs of Fawlty Towers; Da roaring with laughter, he and his brother unable to restrain their tears of mirth. Happy days_._ He's catapulted back to the present and places the name; it's Emma's posh flatmate, his sister hasn't come home and she's trying to locate her.

"I'm sorry, I don't know where she is" he replies brusquely and pulls the phone away from his ear, intending to end the call, but then he hears the urgency in her tone. Emma hasn't turned up at work for two days, she thinks something might have happened, does he know of anything that might have taken her back to Dublin? He sighs; his sister's antics offer little interest and he has other priorities at the moment, but she seems genuinely concerned and clearly expects some co-operation.

"I'll phone our Mother and check" he offers reluctantly and hears an element of relief in her voice.

"And perhaps your brother in Liverpool?" she suggests and he offers a hollow laugh.

"I don't think he'll know anything about it."

"Oh…" she pauses "…it's just that Emma went up there a couple of weekends ago, so I just thought that it's possible she mentioned something while she was there?"

He's firstly astonished and then disbelieving, but he promises to check before taking her number and hanging up. Ten minutes and two swiftly smoked cigarettes later, Nick still hasn't rung back and with frustration, he calls Kieran.

"Have you seen Emma recently?" he asks after pleasantries are exchanged.

"Who?"

"Our sister" he reminds, shaking his head as he wonders what other tales Sybil has been spun.

"Christ, of course not…" Kieran replies "…last time I met her, she was just a kid. I know you said she's in London for a while, but I think it's a bit late to try and restore family relations now. Why do you ask?"

"She's gone walkabout that's all, told her flatmate she'd been up to see you a couple of weeks ago."

"What's she trying to hide?"

"Who knows? Maybe a boyfriend or something. Don't worry about it. Just thought I'd double check."

"Presume you've asked…" the sentence is unfinished.

"Mam" Tom responds. "Not yet. I'm going to ring her now."

"Right. Well good luck. When are you going to come up and visit then, the kids would love to see you."

He laughs. "Your kids don't know who I am!"

"Exactly."

"I will. Soon." His intentions are genuine as he utters the words, even though Kieran has no faith that he will carry them out.

He checks the phone for messages and it's typical that Nick has contacted him while he conversed with his brother. He's left a message and provided Tom with all he needs for this evening; the rest he can follow up tomorrow. A deep breath is required before he phones his mother and braces himself for the inevitable onslaught of recrimination.

"Tommy. Why do you never ring at a convenient time?"

"I'm sorry." he can't face the discussion that would result from clarifying further. "Is everything OK?"

He hears her sigh "I've still got the problem with my hip, I'm in constant pain. David's a godsend to me; I don't know how I'd manage without him." He makes suitably concerned noises of response before she turns to her favourite subject. "Did I tell you that Amy's the lead in the school play?"

"Yes, you did. That's great."

"She's incredibly talented, her teacher thinks that she should apply for drama school."

"Wonderful. So anyway, about your other daughter." He hears the tell-tale tut.

"I hardly ever hear from Emma since she moved to London, why doesn't she ring me?"

"I don't know Mam, but actually I was wondering if you could give me her phone number, I seem to have accidently deleted it." He sees no point in causing unnecessary alarm at this point; clearly Emma hasn't been in touch. His mother flicks through the address book which lies next to her phone in the hallway, still chastising him for his siblings' failure to keep in contact.

"And as for your brother…"

"I know, Mam."

"Eight years, it's been. Eight years! I don't know what I've done to deserve you all."

He could commence with a list without hesitation, but curtails the thought as he pretends to write down the number she provides.

"I thank God for Amy, that's all I can say."

"As well you should, Mam. Right, thanks for that. I'll talk to you again soon, OK? Look after yourself."

Ringing Sybil back as promised, he can hear the anxiety in her voice as he explains that his brief search has proved fruitless.

"Are you going to come over here?" she asks and he is momentarily perplexed by such a request, before appreciating that she wants to hand over responsibility for the hunt. He sighs loudly and glances at his watch, it's almost nine o'clock and door-to-door, the journey will take three quarters of an hour.

"I think we should probably ring the police" she adds and he closes his eyes in exasperation at what he feels certain is Emma's selfish behaviour.

"Give me an hour" he finally concedes, unable to evade the feeling that his role in this saga is unmerited.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he notes the bloodshot eyes and wonders if he should shave; well he wasn't expecting to go anywhere today. He can taste whiskey from earlier and is aware that his clothes emit the stale smell of cigarettes. The recent attempt at nicotine patches has been unsuccessful and he's grown weary of his aborted attempts to quit. He's drinking too much again. _'Like father, like son'_, his mother's voice rings in his ears. There are worse men to emulate when all is said and done. He wonders if he should shower before he leaves, make himself appear more presentable, or might it seem obvious that he has done so; an odd reaction perhaps to the circumstances. He has no idea how the brother of a missing woman should behave, but nor does he want to prolong this journey more than is necessary. In the end, he changes into a fresh shirt, cleans his teeth and squirts some deodorant under his arms, hoping that his appearance isn't too repellent. He remembers Sybil; how could he not? With her long, mane of wavy dark hair, she's just his type and he can still picture the full, rosy lips which lined her smile of friendly greeting as he carried boxes up the stairs from his car. He had been horribly hungover that day; adamant that Emma had previously asked for his assistance on the Sunday and indignant at her insistence that he should now help a day earlier. Despite his silent appreciation of her new flatmate's appearance, he had been seeing Karen at the time. She was now inevitably no longer on the scene, but of the many insults she could and indeed did subsequently trade, infidelity could not be included.

He stops at the convenience store next to Kentish Town tube station, purchases a packet of Nicorette gum, as he remembers that it's a non-smoking flat, considers picking up a bottle of wine but checks himself; this is not, after all, a social call. There's a copy of the _Evening Standard_ lying discarded on a seat and he flicks half-heartedly through it as the train rattles through the capital's core, glancing only fleetingly up at late commuters and those returning home after an evening out. He is momentarily disorientated when he emerges at Kennington, his unfamiliarity with the area compounded by his only previous visit by car. After retracing his steps and giving consideration to phoning for directions, he sees the street sign illuminated by a passing car's headlights and recognises the apartment block behind it. She answers the intercom almost instantly, clearly anticipating his arrival and the potential enormity of the situation presents itself as he slowly makes his way up two flights of stairs. She's waiting for him with the front door ajar, still dressed smartly from her day at work – is she a doctor, or was that someone else? He can't remember. She looks too young; he's reached that age now at which he doubts the experience or authenticity of those in positions of authority if they are considerably younger than him. Emma is nearly ten years his junior, but he doesn't know if her flatmate is of a similar age. He can't help but notice that, despite the obvious tension in her expression, she remains gorgeous, but shoves that thought away in the back of his mind, filed under _'inappropriate given the circumstances.'_

"I've checked her Facebook and Twitter accounts and she hasn't posted anything since Monday evening…" she's rattling off information before he's even entered the living room. "…I can't see any hint in her room of where she might have gone or whether she had a problem of any kind. Nobody in her office appears to know anything; I've just run out of ideas."

"You've been in touch with her friends?" he asks, not wanting to appear patronising, only to clarify what needs to be done.

"Well I don't know any of them, that's the problem" she explains. "She mostly seems to go out with people from work, but nobody's ever come to the flat. And then she's often with you at weekends."

He turns slowly to face her, watching her expression turn to incomprehension as he slowly shakes his head.

"I've only seen her once since she moved in here…" he says. "…and I met her in Soho for a drink, that's all. The only time she's been to my flat is the night she first arrived from Dublin, the day before she came here."

"So why would she…"

"Because she's a lying little minx, that's why" he interrupts and notes that she's visibly shocked by his tone and choice of words.

"I'm sorry…" he concedes "…but she's a complicated girl. I don't know where she's been going; whether she's trying to hide something from you or simply provide you with the image that we're a happy, supportive family, but the fact is that we're not close and she hasn't spoken to our brother in years. There was no trip to Liverpool, at least not to visit him anyhow."

Sybil frowns and turns away, seemingly reluctant to accept the conflicting information he's providing. Chewing on a nail, she sighs briefly, then faces him again.

"She's got a friend called Fiona. From uni?" he shrugs in response; he had little contact with Emma during her student years. "That's the only name outside of work that I've ever heard her mention. She's doing a gap year in Australia apparently and she's certainly had a couple of postcards since she's been here, so I presume that much is true." She bites her lip in thought and meets his eye. "It's a long shot, but do you think she might have gone out there? I didn't come across her passport when I looked briefly in her drawers."

It's possible. Emma is impulsive, but he didn't think she was unreliable enough to simply walk away from a well-paid job without handing in her notice. He wonders if she was under pressure at work, wasn't coping with the change of environment and new role, perhaps felt that she needed to escape. It's conceivable that she hasn't wanted to discuss it with Sybil; after all, they have only known one another for a few months and she's very friendly with the woman whose shoes Emma is filling while she's here. Who knows what is going through anyone's mind? They can only speculate for the time being and act on the ideas which arise. He's brought his laptop and lays it on the coffee table, switching it on and thinking out loud as he does so.

"Let's have a look at her Facebook friends, see if we can find this Fiona; ask her if she's heard from Emma recently." He never uses Facebook, but set up an account some time ago. It's useful if anybody wants to contact him for work, but he isn't predisposed towards social media on a personal level. He's pleasantly surprised to discover that his sister is fairly restrained with her on-line connections, a mere 112 friends, at least half of whom list her company's name. He discovers two people called Fiona; one seems to work in her Dublin office, the other account displays a photo of a smiling woman in front of the Sydney Opera House. Within seconds, he's sending her a message, avoiding any suggestion of alarm or urgency.

'_My name is Tom Branson, Emma's brother. My sister has recently taken some leave from her job and I am trying to track her down. I wonder if she has expressed any desire to visit you in Australia, or whether she might have mentioned any other trip that she was planning? Any information you have would be gratefully received, as I need to get in touch with her. Many thanks.'_

He glances at his watch, it's early morning in Australia; there's no knowing when he might receive a reply. Sybil continues to stand next to him, moving her weight from one foot to another and gnawing her fingernail as she waits for his next move, unsure what to suggest next.

"Right. I'll just have a quick look in her room." he says in as positive a tone as he can muster. "Let's just hang on a bit before we phone the police, OK? Just in case she turns up in the next hour or so, it's not that late yet."

He wonders if she'll follow him, knowing that she's already had a cursory search, but she stops in the doorway and offers him a drink. A beer would be welcome, but the only options provided are tea or coffee and he chooses the latter, nodding in thanks before she disappears and busies herself in the kitchen. He doesn't doubt her earlier efforts, but he's more experienced in investigation; knows the type of clues to hunt and what information to disregard. Ignoring the potential serious nature of the task, he feels a slight frisson of excitement as he commences; he misses the thrill of hunting for facts, spotting hidden hints and piecing together the data. There is little opportunity now that he's the London correspondent; it's mostly court cases or reporting on British trends and moods. He's been doing it for nearly three years now and the novelty is fading. If it was possible, he'd turn the clock back and return to serious investigative journalism, but the opportunity was taken from him on the day he received the death threat. Its arrival had originally caused him only wry amusement; one of those messages using anonymous cut out newspaper print that he thought only existed in dated films and TV dramas, but the message was clear. _'Get out of Dublin or get killed.'_ As soon as he had shown his boss, the decision was made.

"Move to London, Tom. They're serious. You've got too close and spooked them, so they want you out of the way. I'm not taking the risk, it's not worth it. You've done a grand job, but we'll hand what we've got to the Garda and they can take it from here."

"I don't know whether you've noticed…" he'd replied, still incredulous that he was being offered no alternative "…but you already have a London correspondent." It was Amanda; they'd dated for a few months in their early twenties. She had been fiercely ambitious and he didn't think that she'd be thrilled to have him intrude on her domain. There were no personal hard feelings, at least not from his point of view, but still it was unlikely that she'd welcome his arrival with open arms.

"She's going on maternity leave in two months. You can cover it. We'll see if she comes back and take it from there." He had been initially astonished by the news, hadn't even known she was married; certainly couldn't imagine her with a small child. Sometimes it feels as if everyone he knows is growing up and moving on; he is the exception. She works freelance now; hadn't wanted the full time role once she was ready to return to work. He still bumps into her occasionally; she seems softer around the edges than when they had been together. He isn't sure if it is motherhood that has changed her, the process of becoming older or simply not being with him.

His mind turns to the task ahead as he begins to open the drawers in Emma's room. He is methodical and organised; sorting her bank statements and credit cards into date order, miscellaneous items in another pile. Sybil enters with his coffee and he smiles and thanks her.

"Can I do anything?" she asks and he shakes his head.

"Just keep an eye on the laptop, let me know if I get a message. I doubt this Fiona girl will see it immediately, especially if she's travelling around, but you never know."

Emma uses her credit card a great deal, seems fairly extravagant in his opinion with her clothes purchases, but appears to pay it off in full most months and isn't in any kind of debt. There have been three separate cash deposits of £500.00 into her bank account since she has been in London, which he finds peculiar. He doesn't know why anybody would carry that kind of money around; if she's moving savings over from Ireland then why doesn't she transfer it on-line? It's an anomaly, but not necessarily an area for concern. There's nothing else out of the ordinary; she regularly withdraws small sums of cash, uses her debit card for grocery shopping and pays her rent and bills by standing order.

He begins to open other drawers, carefully lifting piles of clothes and peering underneath, feeling to the back with his hands. Hidden beneath a pile of t-shirts, he finds a small jewellery box and is surprised to discover an impressive looking emerald necklace within.

"Have you ever seen her wear this?" he calls to Sybil and she walks swiftly to join him. Her eyes widen as she shakes her head.

"Well I don't blame her hiding it" she replies and he remembers that she's from an aristocratic family, albeit living in diminished circumstances nowadays. Emma had seemed to expect this fact to impress him when they'd met a few months ago; it only proves how little she knows him. He loathes everything the system stands for and took his only pleasure from the fact that Sybil's grandfather had been forced to sell the family estate to the National Trust. He doubts that they were left impoverished by the deal; she clearly recognises the value of precious stones and he can only presume that she's worn something similar at some point.

"Is it a family heirloom?" she asks and he responds with a light laugh.

"Not likely. I can't imagine how she could afford it to be honest. Maybe someone gave it to her?"

"Well it's certainly a generous present if that's the case" she adds and he can only agree as he slips it carefully back under the clothes which concealed it. Sybil returns to the living room and he continues his search. There's nothing out of the ordinary, but as he sorts through a drawer filled with pyjamas, he finds two photographs and feels his heart begin to race as he turns them over. The first is of Da, although he hasn't seen this particular shot before. The final months created such a haunting image of hollow sunken eyes and yellow skin that he has almost forgotten the handsome features he'd previously possessed. Da's standing in their garden; he recognises the swing in the background and sees a child's bike with stabilisers in the distance. Both he and Kieran had learned to ride on that bike, but they'd subsequently passed it on to a cousin, so the photo must have been taken before Emma was born. Da is laughing at the photographer and appears relaxed and happy, so opposed to the memories that Tom retains from his early childhood and certainly unlike the man with whom Emma spent so little time. Is his sister holding on to an image that she wishes she had witnessed; believing in a father that she never had the chance to get to know? He glances at the other picture; remembers the day it was taken. The three of them on Sandycove beach; Da had taken them for the day on the DART. He turns the photograph over in his hand and sees Emma's neat scroll _'Kieran, Tom and me. Sandycove, June 1996' _It had been a rare excursion for the four of them; he was seventeen and still at school, Kieran had already begun his college course, Emma would have been seven. He can't remember how or why his mother had allowed it, but Da had made them all sandwiches to take, bought Emma a bucket and spade and they'd stayed there all day. He remembers holding Emma's hand as they descended the steps to the sand and Da demonstrating how to skim stones on the sea. He'd helped her to bury Kieran as he sat in the sand; she'd screamed with excitement when he eventually rose with a dramatic roar and chased her around the beach. Then as they prepared to make their way back home, Da had suddenly produced a camera from his jacket and told them to line up with the shore behind. "Come on, snuggle in tight…one, two, three…say gorgonzola!" and they'd all laughed, even though he said that without fail when he took photographs and it had ceased to be genuinely amusing. Staring at the photograph, he can see contentment in all their expressions; a day without incident or recrimination, a happy family outing. His teenage-self grins back at him; his arm around Emma's shoulders as she beams joyfully; her front teeth missing and still-blonde hair tied messily back, tangled from sea salt and sand. He feels oddly emotional at the sight; wishes there had been similar occasions over the years, rather than long absences caused by the bitter fallout of their parents' marriage. This was the last summer before their mother re-married; the catalyst for all that subsequently took place. Within five years, Da was dead and Kieran had left; he was living on his own and his subsequent ties with Emma were sporadic. He can understand why his sister has kept this; how the scene provides scarcely remembered proof of their now fractured family, a happy memory amongst all of the bitterness and reproach.

His reverie is interrupted by a call from the living room and he carefully returns the photographs to the drawer as Sybil lets him know that a message has arrived. Sitting beside her on the sofa, he double clicks so that they can both read its content.

'_Hi Tom, I haven't heard from Emma in about a month. She seemed to be loving her new job in London and made no mention of a holiday, but of course I'd be delighted if she's thinking of coming out to see me. Sorry I can't be of any more help, but I'll email her and see what her plans are. Hope you track her down soon, I'll let her know you're looking! Cheers, Fiona.'_

Sybil looks at him questioningly and he swallows deeply, a sudden pit of anxiety in his stomach as the potential lead proves futile. He clears his throat, glances at his watch and silently craves a cigarette. It's almost midnight and he can see no alternative now.

"I think it's time to call the police."


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't work for the police and have no insider knowledge. I have had a cursory search on the internet for information but any inaccuracies regarding police procedure are therefore my own._

* * *

They differ over the number to call. Sybil feels that it's an emergency and therefore 999 is the most appropriate option; Tom is certain that without proof of Emma being in immediate distress, 101 should be their first port of call. In the end such verbal dispute is meaningless; Tom cites sibling rights as his winning hand and because Kennington Police Station is fairly quiet this evening, two officers arrive within half an hour.

PC Alison Johnson is probably in her mid-forties. She's presents the shape of a woman who has reached middle age without ever regaining her pre-baby weight and has now decided to give up the attempt. Tom guesses that she's of West Indian descent, notes that she makes immediate and firm eye contact with each of them and offers an air of professional composure combined with sympathetic compassion. She has a warm, maternal air about her and as someone who has been on the receiving end of little such empathy in recent years, Tom finds her presence, even under such alarming circumstances, oddly comforting. This is in stark contrast to her shift partner Scott Velluci, who in Tom's opinion appears to be about fifteen years old. How is it possible that this pimply youth has passed through police academy training, when it doesn't look as if he is yet old enough to shave? He fleetingly wonders if he is taking part in a school work experience scheme, but he seems to be fully equipped with uniform, together with appropriate electronic devices and it seems unlikely that students would be scheduled for the night shift. Still he seems amiable enough, nodding sincerely as Tom and Sybil each explain their reasons for concern and occasionally bending his head to scribble in a small notebook, although it is PC Johnson who is taking charge. She asks Sybil to explain the full sequence of events over the past two days, all of which she records without comment before turning to Tom.

"So when did you last see Emma?" she asks with a reassuring smile.

"In June" he replies and watches her tip her head to one side, encouraging him to elaborate of his own accord.

"She emailed me and asked to meet up for a drink. We met in a pub in Soho, had two drinks, were there for about an hour and a half, I guess and that was it. It was just a general chat; she seemed to be enjoying her job and her time in London, I didn't have any reason to be concerned by her behaviour at all."

"And have you had any contact with her since? Phone calls, emails?"

He shakes his head and notes a flicker of interest in Alison Johnson's eyes.

"We're not particularly close" he explains and she silently nods, waiting to see if he will extend his explanation. He clears his throat. "We didn't grow up together." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sybil's head turn swiftly towards him and is unsurprised that Emma has probably chosen not to share this information.

"Our parents separated when I was…" he pauses as if to try and recollect when the event took place, although in reality he could recite the precice date. "…um, eleven and Emma was, well not a baby, but a toddler I suppose. Less than two, anyway. It was very acrimonious and they chose to split their children up. My brother and I lived with our father while Emma stayed with our mother."

"I see" replies PC Johnson "But you had contact? I mean, did your parents each have access to the other children?"

"My brother and I would visit our mother from time to time yes, but Emma wasn't allowed to come to our house. She only saw our father on rare occasions."

"Why was that?"

He feels a familiar sense of shame and breaks eye contact. "Our father was an alcoholic. Our mother didn't trust him with Emma's welfare."

"But she trusted him with the welfare of you and your brother?"

Tom hesitates. _'Exactly'_ he thinks but instead replies "Well we were older, I guess."

Sybil gives a light cough and he turns his head towards her. "I think I should add…" she begins nervously, her gaze alternating between PC Johnson and Tom "…that I didn't know any of this and that in fact, Emma has always given me the impression that she and Tom are fairly close." It's clear she is silently asking for his permission to continue and he gives a curt nod. "I'm not suggesting that this is necessarily relevant to her disappearance, but she regularly told me that she was staying with Tom at weekends and I've only this evening discovered that it's not true." She shrugs lightly. "I don't know how important that is to all of this, but…" her voice tails off and Alison Johnson gives her a warm smile.

"Well it's a possibility anyway. So where is your brother now, Tom?"

"In Liverpool. He doesn't have any contact with Emma, although it turns out that she also claimed to have been to visit him recently and I've already clarified that it was another fabrication."

"Is there any particular reason for him and Emma not being in contact?"

"Nothing specific to her, no. He made the decision to break off all contact with our mother about eight years ago and the fallout of that was that he ended any communication with our sisters as well."

"Sisters? Plural?" PC Johnson is writing furiously now. "Right, I need to know exactly who everyone is in your family. Can you just clarify?"

"Our father's been dead for thirteen years. Our mother remarried before he passed away and had another daughter, Amy. She's about fifteen, maybe sixteen now. So they all live in Dublin. My brother's in Liverpool; he's married with two children. Then me and Emma, that's everyone."

"How does Emma get on with your step-father?"

Tom thinks for a moment. "I don't think there has ever been a specific incident. But Emma isn't his child, while Amy is and Emma has always given the impression that he makes that issue fairly obvious. She seems quite resentful of him. I think she made efforts to try and gain his affection when she was younger, but in recent years has generally avoided him. She hasn't lived there since she left school and first went to university. He and I have never had much time for one another, so he tends to find a reason to go out if I visit." He smiles at the policewoman. "I realise that your first line of suspicion is always a male relative, but I don't think David has anything to do with Emma going missing. He's not particularly interested in any of our mother's other children, but I don't believe he's sinister in any way."

"Of course…" she reassures "…but we may have to speak to him, and your brother too. Just to eliminate them from our enquiries."

She asks if Emma has ever disappeared in the past; either ran away as a child, or was unexpectedly absent from university or a job. Neither can be unequivocally certain, but know of no other similar incidents. There are questions about Emma's friends and Tom explains his efforts to contact Fiona, while Sybil reiterates her earlier comments that she is unaware of any specific acquaintances outside of Emma's office.

"Are there any school friends, or old contacts in Dublin that she might still be in touch with?"

"I expect so…" Tom replies "…our mother would have a better idea, although as I mentioned, she hasn't lived at home for six years, so I don't know how up to date Mam will be with more recent friends. Certainly there'll be people from her company's Dublin office. I haven't actually told my mother that Emma is missing yet, though."

"You haven't checked that she's there?" PC Velluci makes his first contribution with a tone of incredulity and Tom glares at him.

"I phoned earlier this evening and she made it clear that Emma hasn't been in touch recently. I didn't want to worry her unnecessarily. At that point, I still thought that Emma might walk through the door at any time. I will of course phone her again in the morning now that I've reported her missing."

"That's fine." PC Johnson's eyes impart a silent message to her colleague and she smiles at Tom once again. "And you told us that you spoke to your brother, so we're pretty sure that she's not at either address. So, what about boyfriends? Has she had any since she's been in London, or mentioned one back home?"

"Neither…" says Sybil without further prompt "… I asked her fairly early on, after she'd moved in here." She appears slightly embarrassed. "Well you know, women ask these things. She said that there wasn't anybody in Dublin and she's not mentioned anyone since she's been here."

"No liaisons of any kind? No one night stands?" PC Johnson turns to Tom. "Excuse me, I'm not implying that she necessarily would, but it's important that we look into any relationship, no matter how fleeting it might have been." Tom is fairly impervious to the concept; doesn't believe that a woman should act any differently from his own behaviour over the years, but he doesn't elaborate and allows Sybil to continue.

"Not that I know of, but of course I now realise that I have no idea where she's been most weekends. Certainly she's never brought anyone home, or mentioned that she's particularly interested in anyone."

"Might there be girlfriends instead?"

Sybil seems momentarily thrown by the question. "Um…well I suppose…no, I don't think so. She's made complimentary comments about actors on TV and I've heard her say that a man in a pub or something is cute, so unless she's said all that to put me off the scent, I don't know."

"She definitely had a boyfriend at uni…" Tom interrupts "…I didn't know him, but I remember our mother mentioning him. I don't think it was a particularly bitter break up; they just went their separate ways, I think."

"We'll need his name, please. Just to eliminate him."

"I'll ask my mother."

PC Johnson pauses momentarily. "Do you find it unusual that she didn't have any romantic encounters at all within seven months, not even a date?" She nods towards the Facebook page that Tom has left open on his laptop. "I mean she's a pretty girl, young and without ties, living in London? Was she put off for some reason?"

Tom and Sybil each shrug and the words "I don't know" are simultaneously uttered, making them both smile. He tips his head; encouraging her to continue and she looks momentarily bashful.

"Is it odd? I don't know. I haven't had a boyfriend since she's been living here either, it's just the way life goes sometimes, I guess. If you don't meet anyone and your life is otherwise busy and fun, then it's not necessarily important."

Tom can't help but find this information of interest, but remains silent and nods appropriately as Alison Johnson concurs before closing her notebook.

"Right, I'm going to need her bank details, mobile phone number and email address please. Do you by any chance know which mobile network she was on?"

"Orange" Sybil replies without hesitation. "We went to the cinema a couple of times; you know, on Orange Wednesdays? She got the code both times."

"And a recent photograph?"

Tom feels helplessly inadequate; believes that this is something that he should be able to provide without difficulty, but the fact is that he has none. There are no relics from their childhood in his flat; he has erased all but the memories and the idea of taking a photograph of his sister while she resides briefly in London has never crossed his mind on the two occasions they were together. Sybil rises to her feet.

"There should be one stored on my computer from a few months ago. We went up to Camden Market together and she asked me to take her photo in front of the sign, but her phone was low on charge. So I took it on mine and forwarded it to her. I've definitely uploaded it."

PC Johnson passes her a business card "Can you email it to that address please? I also need some DNA, is her toothbrush here perhaps?"

"This is sounding quite scary now" Sybil murmurs quietly and Tom tries to catch her eye in order to offer reassurance. He knows that this is standard procedure and bears no relevance to Emma's eventual fate. PC Johnson is working from a check-list to take back to the station before any further action is taken.

"So what's next?" he asks once Scott Velucci has carefully placed Emma's toothbrush into a plastic bag and sealed it. Alison Johnson sits back down on the sofa and her professional demeanour reverts to one of empathy.

"We'll take the information you've given us back to the station and enter it into the Missing Persons database; see if there's a match. As she's been missing for less than forty eight hours, it's unlikely, but that is always the first port of call. It will be handed over to our Missing Persons Co-ordinator, who is a lady named Dawn Pulliver and she'll take it from there. She'll contact you in the morning. I'd imagine that she'll check CCTV records in the first instance at both Kennington and Chancery Lane tube stations; see if Emma made her usual journey into work on Tuesday morning. She'll also look into whether her phone has been switched off; obviously if it's still on, we'll have an idea of where she might be."

"Will she check her phone records?" asks Sybil

"Over time, yes. It takes a bit longer, we have to go through certain bureaucratic procedures to do that, so it might take a few days. She'll probably organise interviews with Emma's colleagues, both here in London and in Dublin; possibly with other people as well, depending on the information your mother can provide about her friends. It all depends on what the first line of enquiry throws up, but those are the usual first efforts in a case like this." She sighs lightly and immediately clears her throat before looking firstly at Tom and then Sybil.

"I should point out that the vast majority of missing adults do so voluntarily." They both nod and Tom opens his mouth to comment, but is prevented by Alison continuing. "However, most missing adults are not young professional women, without financial or mental health issues and no history of disappearing in the past. Based on the information that you've both given me, I suspect that this will probably be treated as an involuntary disappearance and therefore, as a crime."

Sybil emits an audible sound of distress and Tom instinctively places his hand gently on her knee in an attempt to pacify. She turns to him, her face pale and he wishes he could find something to say which might appease the situation.

"You think that she's been taken" he reiterates.

"I think that her being held against her will is the most likely explanation, yes. I'm sorry. I could be wrong and there might be another unexpected reason, but statistically, you should prepare yourself and your family for that outcome."

Tom nods, feeling his chest tighten with fear, while Sybil appears to be on the verge of tears.

"Dawn will talk through everything with you in the morning, but unless the family has a reason to suggest otherwise, she probably won't want to make it public for a day or two; just until the initial enquiries have been exhausted. If there are no leads at that point, she might want to talk to you about doing a press conference or preparing a statement. It's probable that as an Irish national, it will become a dual enquiry with the Garda, but we'll do all the liaising for that; it won't make any practical difference to the family. We usually offer the services of a Family Liaison Officer and it might be more comforting for your mother to have someone local, rather than an officer sent out from London. You would still be entitled to have one here as well."

"I don't need a Family Liaison Officer" Tom says firmly. "Just keep me informed, that's all I ask."

"For the time being, I take it that you're our first point of contact?" He nods his assent. "Once your mother is informed, you can decide between you who it should be, going forward."

PC Johnson turns to Sybil. "We'll have to search your flat I'm afraid; probably in the morning. Do you want to be here?" She nods and glances rather helplessly at Tom.

"I'll come too" he adds "If you ask Dawn Pulliver to contact me first, then I'll let Sybil know what time to expect us all."

"And they'll probably want to take your computer or tablet or whatever you've got, Sybil." adds the policewoman kindly. "Even if you don't believe that Emma's ever used them; we'll need to double check as we haven't got her device to investigate. It won't be for long, you'll get them back within a few days." The room is silent for a few seconds and all formalities appear to have been completed.

"Well thank you for all your help" Tom begins and Sybil attempts to politely concur, although her eyes are watery and she is struggling to compose herself.

"There are many possible outcomes…" Alison Johnson offers gently "…and I promise you that we'll do all that we can to find her."

"We'll be in regular contact" adds PC Velluci, looking intently at Sybil but offering a nominal glance in Tom's direction.

"It'll be Dawn's enquiry now, but we may well see you again at some point" concludes his partner and she leans forward to shake both of their hands before they leave.

Tom and Sybil are quietly lost in their own thoughts after the door has shut, before she appears to remember she's the hostess and offers him a drink.

"Have you got any alcohol?" he asks, no longer caring if such a request seems impolite and she motions with her head for him to follow her into the kitchen.

"There's some white wine open, is that OK? I haven't got any beer, I don't drink it very often."

"Anything, thank you. I might have to just quickly go downstairs for a cigarette, is that OK? Do you mind me leaving you?"

He's only gone for three or four minutes; taking a few furious puffs, before stubbing it out on the ground and returning back to the flat. Sybil has left the door on the latch and is sitting quietly on the sofa, her untouched wine on the coffee table before her.

"I feel a bit numb" she says as he sits down beside her, reaching for a packet of mints in his trouser pocket. "My head's spinning with the fact that she's missing and that the police are taking it so seriously. Part of me believed that they'd just come up with some kind of logical reason that we hadn't thought of and that we'd be able to resolve it. And then I learn that she's been making all these things up; I feel like I don't really know her at all."

He's unsure how to respond; is still coming to terms with the reality of his sister having disappeared and that she's likely to be the victim of a serious crime. He feels as if he has never truly known her; that he could never be certain of her likely intentions or aspirations. Yet he feels protective towards her; knows that the anxiety he is feeling is compounded by guilt for his apathy over the years and fears that he may never have an opportunity to try and make amends. Having knocked back a glass of wine within minutes, his senses are softening and part of him would like to confide in Sybil, feeling that her natural compassion might offer him a brief opportunity for atonement. Yet he has no desire to add to her obvious distress; feels guilty that she has been unwittingly placed in this position and wants to make things as easy as possible for her.

She doesn't appear to even notice as he helps himself to another glass of wine, remaining silent and contemplative before suddenly taking a deep breath and turning to face him.

"I'm sorry. I'm being very self-absorbed here; this is far worse for you than it is for me…" she pauses momentarily and he fails in a brief attempt to contradict her "…whatever relationship you had with her, she's still your sister. I don't want to get in your or your family's way at all, but I want to help you, that's all. Whatever I can do to assist, you will let me know, won't you? I mean, if you want to be on your own, I'll understand…"

"I'd be glad of your help…" he replies quickly and it's sincerely meant "…I'd appreciate having someone else to talk to about it, to be honest."

"Good" she gives a weak smile, which stretches into a yawn and he realises with a start that it's almost three o'clock in the morning.

"What will you do about work tomorrow?" he asks, hoping that she'll clarify what she does in her response.

"I'll phone the night shift in a minute so that they can get a locum in. Either that or they'll manage with a nurse and just send the more serious cases to A&E." Her answer hasn't entirely resolved the issue in his mind, but he realises that he's too tired himself to start questioning her.

"Right, well I'll leave you to it and give you a call as soon as I hear from this Missing Persons Co-ordinator."

"Are you going home?" she asks and he isn't quite sure what she's anticipating.

"Are you worried about being on your own? Do you want me to stay until it gets light? I need to go home for a bit, but I can wait if you'd feel happier?" He didn't submit the first part of his article and he really needs to freshen up; doesn't want to face another set of police officers in two day old clothes. She's watching him without expression and he keeps talking; tiredness and alcohol mixing together to create jumbled thoughts, which spill out without edit.

"I don't really want to sleep in Emma's bed…" he suddenly imagines with horror that she might then think he's implying that he sleeps in hers, so his voice rises with anxiety "…I can just kip here on the sofa for a bit if you like, if you're nervous, I don't mind…whatever makes you feel safest really."

"I'll be fine" she eventually declares and nods her head firmly to confirm her decision. "Nobody took her from the flat, did they? I'm perfectly safe. Let's each get a bit of sleep and maybe that will help us face whatever tomorrow brings."

"You're sure?" In all honesty he's relieved that she's made the decision. He finds his immediate comfort with her company quite alarming; after all he scarcely knows anything about her, but he's grateful that she isn't bombarding him with questions about his family history. It would be a mistake to become over familiar; to blur his sister's companionship for his own. Her support might be invaluable and he doesn't want her to feel that she needs to back away.

"If you change your mind; ring me and I'll come back" he promises. She offers to phone for a taxi, but he says he'll walk. It's true that he would like to clear his head for a few minutes in the fresh air, but in all honesty, he's feeling so overwhelmed that he is desperate for another cigarette before he is enclosed within a vehicle for twenty minutes.

"I'll see you in the morning" he says as he turns at the door. "Try to get some sleep if you can."

She leans forward marginally and he wonders if she's going to kiss him on the cheek, but she seems to think better of it and instead grasps his hand. It's not a shake as such; after all it's the wrong palm, but a clasp of reassurance which offers support and empathy in equal measure.

"See you tomorrow, Tom" and with that he leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

_Many thanks for all your very encouraging reviews and messages about this story, I'm really thrilled by how well it's been received. I know it's a slow start; there's quite a lot to clarify at the beginning and this is a relatively short chapter, but things will soon move forward both in the investigation and with Sybil and Tom's relationship. You'll just have to be patient a little bit longer!_

_Also, can I take this opportunity to thank whoever it was that nominated me for two Highclere Awards. It was a huge surprise but I'm really touched by the gesture._

* * *

As she sips her tea and reflects on what took place the night before, she spots him from the living room window. He pauses on the other side of the road, glancing around for approaching traffic, before jogging lightly across and stopping by the path to the communal front door. She watches him casually throw his cigarette to the ground, grind it with his left foot, but then to her surprise he leans down to pick it up again and suddenly disappears from view. Even from two floors up, she can hear the tell-tale squeak of the door leading to the rubbish bins and is pleased that he's eliminated an excuse for old Mr Irwin on the ground floor to make another complaint to his fellow residents as they pass him in the corridor.

When she first lets him into the flat, she's taken slightly by surprise at how different he appears. Despite the obvious stress caused by Emma's disappearance and relatively little sleep, he seems much brighter than he did the previous evening. She hasn't seen him clean-shaven before and his bright blue eyes meet hers with vitality not previous possessed.

"How are you feeling today?" he asks before she has had a chance to make an identical query. "Sorry I woke you up earlier; did you manage to get much sleep?"

She is touched by his concern; both this morning and before his departure last night. In having foreseen her instinctive anxiety at being alone, he had managed to shake herself out of a self-absorbed stupor and begin to think with increased clarity. Although her mind had raced while her body had made attempts to sleep, she hadn't felt subsequently frightened for her own safety and in turn, felt more rested today than she might otherwise do on four and a half hours' slumber.

"It's fine, I'm glad you gave me plenty of time to get ready. What about you, were you able to sleep?"

"Eventually. I kept thinking everything through, but I dropped off by about five, I guess. And then Dawn Pulliver rang me just after nine."

"Is there anything else that I need to know before she gets here?"

He shakes his head. "She just asked to come round at eleven; didn't say much else to be honest. I rang my mother and brother afterwards, just to let them know what's happened."

"How is your Mum?"

He pauses and glances momentarily towards the window before regaining eye contact. "She's naturally worried, of course."

"It must be dreadful for her."

The corners of his mouth twitch briefly as he nods slowly and she frowns, not understanding what could possibly be amusing about his sister's plight.

"Sorry…" he continues "…but you just hit the nail on the head with that sentence. It must be dreadful _for her_. That's pretty much what it came down to, rather than what it must be like for Emma. Our mother can turn any situation around to how it personally affects her. You name it - global warming, somebody else's divorce, the conflict in Syria – you'd be surprised at how all of these issues can personally touch the day-to-day existence of a fifty eight year old woman in Dublin, but without fail they do. Anyway, she's worried about the possibility of press intrusion, about the stress and restrictions it's going to create for her, David and Amy, about what other people will think. I mean, she did briefly express concern that Emma might be harmed in some way, but then she even managed to turn that into a story about a tramp grabbing her momentarily on O'Connell Street during a night out in 1974." He sighs and rubs his temple in frustration. "I should lower my expectations, I think, then I wouldn't feel quite so pissed off every time I speak to her. My brother showed more concern for Emma and how actually fucking terrifying it must be for her if she's being held somewhere and he doesn't even really know her."

Sybil stands awkwardly with her weight resting on one leg, hands wrapped around her mug, not wanting to intrude on their family history or ask awkward questions about the estrangement. It's tempting; she can't help but feel naturally curious, but she doesn't feel that she has yet earned the right to encroach on such emotive territory.

"Sorry for swearing" he adds awkwardly and she shakes her head and smiles.

"Would you like a cup of something before they get here?"

"Thanks. A coffee please." He follows her into the kitchen and his voice switches to a brighter tone. "Are you close to your family?"

"Pretty much" she replies, feeling almost apologetic at the contrast to his own domestic history. "I'm the youngest of three sisters, but there's only three and a half years between all of us and we get on pretty well." She fills the kettle and after switching it on, turns to face him with her back against the counter. "I mean, naturally we fought like cats and dogs when we were little and we're spread out all over the country now, but we speak fairly regularly and see each other when we can." She pats her forehead suddenly. "Actually, that reminds me, it's my sister Edith's birthday today and I still haven't managed to post her present, but I must ring her later."

She's busying herself with collecting mugs and reaching for the milk when he adds "Emma told me a bit about your family" and she feels her body tense as a consequence.

"What did she say?" she asks guardedly and there's hesitation before he responds.

"That your father's an Earl."

"In name. It doesn't mean much any more."

"Well he can sit in the House of Lords, but he chooses not to, doesn't he?"

She turns to face him again, her eyes narrowing. "Have you been checking up on us?"

"I'm a journalist, it's what I do. And I hardly knew anything about you."

"Well that works both ways."

"I'm just trying to get a heads up." He flashes a terse attempt at a smile. "You can google me if you want, I don't mind."

"I already did in order to get your telephone number."

"Well then we're quits aren't we?"

There's silence while she makes the drinks and in an obvious effort to alter the mood, he asks "So where did you actually grow up?"

"God's own country" she replies, giving him a little smirk to show that two can play at this verbal dance.

"Ah so you're Irish too!" and she can't help but laugh.

"Yorkshire, actually."

"Well, the next best thing, I guess" and he tips his head in a conciliatory manner. Things are on an even keel again and they can proceed in unity.

The doorbell rings and Sybil lets Dawn Pulliver and her two colleagues into the building. Dawn is composed and professional, a woman whose glasses provide a studious appearance, but who possesses a winning smile which she uses carefully to offer a balance of faith and reality. She instructs the two uniformed officers to search Emma's room and politely requests Sybil's permission to look around the remainder of the flat, including her own bedroom. While this takes place, she sits down with Tom and Sybil in the living room and attempts to hold their attention, although they are each easily distracted by watching the proceedings unfold around them. After asking them to reiterate many of the details previously given to Alison Johnson, she turns to Tom.

"I understand that you were going to try and find out some names of Emma's school friends and her ex-boyfriend in Ireland?"

He nods and reaches into his trouser pocket to retrieve his wallet, from which he takes a folded A5 piece of paper.

"Here you are. Our mother named two girls that she thought Emma had kept in touch with after leaving school. One of the addresses is written there as she knows her mother, but she's not sure where the other one is now. I've written down the suburb where she used to live, but Mam doesn't know if the family are still there. And the ex-boyfriend apparently went off to teach English somewhere in Eastern Europe; his name is written there but all she knows is that he was originally from Donegal. Emma hasn't mentioned him in some time, so she doesn't know if he's still out there. She confirmed that there was no particular resentment on either side and that they did stay friends afterwards, so I can't see that he would be involved."

"Well we'll look into it anyway, thank you. As PC Johnson told you I believe, our first task is to check the CCTV records at Kennington and Chancery Lane so that we can get an idea at which point Emma diverted from her usual route to work. I've already got officers retrieving those this morning so, as we know what time she left the flat on Tuesday, we should only have to monitor a fairly limited timeframe. I'm hopeful that we'll have an answer one way or another later today. Also we've put in a request in to Orange about tracking her mobile phone; that should also be fairly swift, although more detailed records of previous calls and texts will take a bit longer."

"Will you be going to Dublin to speak to her colleagues and friends?" Tom asks

"Not just yet. We'll start with her colleagues here in London and then make a decision in the next day or two, depending on what those first lines of enquiry throw up. Then we'll also need to talk to you further about whether we make the enquiry public and who in your family is going to be involved with that."

"There's something else I think you should know" Tom adds and two pairs of eyes are watching him intently. "Once PC Johnson said that Emma is likely to have been taken involuntarily…"

"…statistically speaking…" Dawn swiftly interrupts "…we don't know anything of the sort yet."

"But if she has been…" he hesitates and Sybil watches him rub a hand over his chin as he wrestles with his next words. "…it's possible that it's because of me."

This declaration seems astonishing, but Sybil is wise enough to remain silent before she jumps to any conclusions.

"In what way?" asks Dawn, opening her folder and retrieving her pen from the coffee table.

"Before I came to London, which was almost three years ago, I worked on a big investigative story about a drugs ring in Dublin. I got a lot of information, made a lot of contacts. It was a huge project, but I never quite got enough in order to make it public or to help the police secure a conviction. Somebody in their circle cottoned on to what I was doing and they basically threatened to have me murdered unless I left Dublin." Sybil's eyes widen and her hand flies to her mouth, but she continues to exercise restraint and allows Tom to finish his explanation. "I was moved across to London, the Garda were handed all the information and nothing else came of it for a while. I've been back to Dublin from time to time to visit, but always only for a couple of days and I've never had a problem." He appears suddenly weary and his head droops. "The Garda have carried on with their own investigations subsequently and they arrested two of them just before Christmas last year. Their trial took place this last summer and they were convicted, admittedly on much more minor crimes than they should – they hadn't managed to prove the full extent of it, but they got five and eight years. Some of the evidence used in the trial had been obtained by me, although I wasn't actually named during it."

"And you think that taking Emma might be their attempt at revenge?"

"For the others in the gang, yes. It only crossed my mind after Alison Johnson had left because until that point, I didn't genuinely believe that it was a crime; deep down I presumed Emma had gone missing of her own accord."

"Which still might be the case. Have you heard anything from these people in the meantime?"

"No, nothing."

"And would Emma have been known to them?"

"Not as far as I know. But it wouldn't be hard to find out that I've got a sister."

"But you've got a sister in Dublin as well; why do you think they would they want to come and abduct Emma from London?"

He shrugs helplessly. "I've no idea. Easier not to be recognised by someone perhaps?"

Dawn Pulliver nods and thinks for a moment. "Well it's a theory and we can look into it, but I would have thought that these people would let you know if they're holding her. It doesn't follow a normal pattern for them to take her and stay silent about it."

"Perhaps they're biding their time." Tom suddenly covers his face with his hands in anguish and Sybil instinctively leans towards him, her hand hovering in the air behind his back. She wants to comfort him in some way and help relieve his obvious distress, but isn't sure how it will be received.

"It's not your fault" she murmurs almost helplessly and gently rests her palm on his spine.

"It might be" he mutters from behind the protective shield that his hands provide and she glances at Dawn, hoping for reassurance to prove that he is beyond reproach.

"Perhaps we can talk about this in more detail down at the station, Tom?" she suggests instead and he slowly lowers his hands, raising his eyes to meet hers.

"What, now?" he asks

"After the search is complete, yes. We do need to ask you some further questions anyway. Would that be convenient?""

He nods and Sybil opens her mouth in bewilderment. "Are you arresting him?" she asks.

"No, not at all. We're just asking him to come and answer some questions. It's standard procedure."

"You can't possibly think that he's somehow involved!" her instinctive outrage surprises even herself. She's only known him for about fourteen hours, but she's resolute in her belief of his innocence.

"They probably don't" he tells her and suddenly he's the one offering reassurance once again; his eyes locking with hers in a silent guarantee. "I knew they'd ask me to come in. They can't tell us that they're going to talk to my brother and my step-father and not include me as well."

"But you're the one who reported her missing in the first place!" she can't help but declare as a final petition. He smiles and shrugs.

"You obviously haven't watched enough crime dramas or you'd know that doesn't mean anything." She bites her lower lip as her glance moves across to Dawn Pulliver, who offers a comforting smile.

"Well, why aren't you interviewing me then?" Sybil asks

"We may well do so in time. Please don't worry, Sybil. Tom'll be back with you later." Sybil briefly wonders if Dawn Pulliver has been misinformed about the nature of their relationship.

"He's not…." she starts to clarify, but doesn't finish the sentence and shrugs. "Fine"

The uniformed police officers have conducted their search. Sybil's PC is carefully unplugged; she hands them her iPad while they place Emma's financial statements into folders and beckon Dawn into the bedroom. She returns to the living room to ask about the necklace; both explain that they hadn't seen it prior to discovering it themselves. The photographs are displayed and Tom clarifies.

"Why would she hide them away, rather than have them on display, do you think?" Dawn asks

"Perhaps she was holding on to some happy childhood memories that might be tainted by further questioning." He pauses. "Don't we all like to remember the dead as they once were? Before the rot set in?" There's bitterness in his tone and he avoids Sybil's gaze before Dawn Pulliver hands the photographs to him.

"Well, we don't need them; do you want to keep them for the time being?"

"OK. I'll keep them safe for Emma until she comes back" and he tucks them into the breast pocket of his shirt.

"Right then, I think we're all done here for now. Sybil I hope we've put everything back where it should be. It's possible that we might need to come back again in the future, but for the time being, you're free to carry on as normal. Tom, if you wouldn't mind coming with me and we'll go straight to the station. We'll try not to keep you for too long."

The uniformed officers politely shake Sybil's hand as they depart and Dawn thanks her for her co-operation. The thought of an afternoon alone stretches ahead of her and she wonders if she should go into work in order to try and occupy herself. They'll have covered for her already, however; she'll just have to keep busy in order to prevent her mind from wandering in alarming directions. It occurs to her that her worries are now entirely divided; that Emma is possibly in captivity, alone and frightened with no idea whether or not anyone is searching for her; but also that Tom might somehow be unwittingly caught up in reasons behind her disappearance. She's hopping around from one foot to another in the hallway as he puts on his jacket to follow Dawn Pulliver and her colleagues and she wonders whether he still wants to keep her informed about what takes place. Despite his assurances of last night, he may choose to liaise directly with Dawn and her input might now be restricted. She wants to ask him, but as she searches for the most appropriate way to pose her query, he swings around under the doorframe and meets her eye.

"I'll ring you as soon as I come out."


	5. Chapter 5

It is clear from her demeanour that Dawn Pulliver doesn't believe that Tom is behind his sister's disappearance. He is able to reassure himself of that within minutes; not that he had ever truly believed that he could be considered culpable by the investigation team. However, it's gratifying all the same to know that he isn't under genuine suspicion.

"So where were you on Tuesday morning between 7.30 and 9am, Tom?" she asks, once he has provided further information relating to the drugs circle back in Dublin and she has sent one of her officers off to make some preliminary enquiries.

"Asleep. In bed." he pauses and raises his eyebrows pointedly. "Alone."

"So you can't provide us with an alibi, then?"

"Afraid not, no."

"What time did you leave home that day?"

"Just after 9pm, once Sybil rang and asked me to come over."

"You didn't go outside at all before then?" This clearly surprises her and he is quick to clarify.

"It's not particularly unusual. I work from home, submit my articles online. There's no Irish Herald Office here in London, so unless I need to interview someone or be in court or something, I just stay put to work."

"Quite a lonely profession"

"Sometimes…" he admits "…but it suits me. I do have a social life; I'm not a hermit but on Tuesday I didn't have any plans or reason to go anywhere, so I stayed in the flat."

"You didn't pop out for milk or a paper? I'm just trying to see if somebody might have spotted you so that we can rule you out."

"I get a couple of newspapers delivered to the flat, so all I have to do is nip down to the communal hallway." He thinks momentarily "I don't remember bumping into anyone that morning when I collected them. I had enough milk, fags, bread. I didn't need to go out. Sorry, I wish I had now, but the fact is that I didn't."

"What time did you get up?"

He has to concentrate. The days sometimes blur together and it's difficult to recollect the specifics.

"About quarter to nine, I think. Yes, that's right. I had to phone a contact about something for an article and I knew that she would be in her office from nine. I rang her about quarter past."

"You drink coffee, then" she nods at the polystyrene cup in front of him, the contents of which appear as unpalatable as its taste.

"Yes" he replies hesitantly, unclear about her line of questioning.

"So if we contact your electricity board, would they be able to confirm a surge of power from your flat just before nine?"

He nods with comprehension. "Yes. Kettle, radio, toaster. Definitely."

"And do you keep your phone on overnight? Would your network provider be able to prove that you were in Kentish Town? I'm not interested in the call you made at quarter past nine; you could have come back from meeting Emma by then. I want proof that you were in your flat between seven thirty and nine."

"Yes on both of those counts."

"Good, we'll check those out and then we don't need to bother you any more apart from keeping you informed." She looks down at the table in thought, before raising her head once again and meeting his eye.

"How long have you known Sybil?"

He is unexpectedly thrown by the question. "Um…only since yesterday. Well actually that's not entirely true. I met her once in February when I helped Emma move in, but that was very brief and I hadn't seen her in the meantime."

It's clear that Dawn had expected a different reply and he's curious. "Why?"

She shakes her head lightly. "You presented a very united front, that's all. I presumed that you were already friends in some form."

"Well…" he considers his reply and the fact that he feels inexplicably pleased that they have provided this impression. "…we've been thrown together under rather unusual and fairly intense circumstances, I guess. We were up most of the night talking to PC Johnson so it does feel as if I've known her longer." Dawn nods and begins to close the file that lies before her on the table, but he feels compelled to add. "She's very easy to get on with."

A brief smile escapes Dawn's lips and he wonders if a shortage of sleep has made his thoughts transparent. It is true, however. He feels unusually relaxed in Sybil's company and her natural empathy has drawn her to him beyond a simple physical attraction. However, Dawn doesn't press him for more information and indicates with her head that they should leave the room.

"Let's go and see how they're getting on with those CCTV images. We've got somebody from the Garda flying out this afternoon, so I'm also going to talk to him about your theory concerning a revenge abduction. I'm still not convinced by it but I'm hoping that he might have some contacts who may be able to shed some light on whether or not it might be true. Can you come back again in the morning if he wants to have a chat with you?"

"Of course."

They make their way into the incident room, where a young, eager constable nods at Dawn, suggesting that she comes over to his desk.

"I think we've spotted her at Kennington" he says with a tone of excitement and Tom stands rooted to the spot in the doorway, unclear whether or not he is supposed to witness the evidence or if his presence has been momentarily forgotten. Dawn watches a monitor for a few seconds, then waves Tom over.

"Can you confirm this is Emma?" she asks and he watches the stilted images of his sister holding out her Oyster card and passing through the barrier before disappearing towards the escalator. He nods and Dawn squints at the screen.

"8.02. So she got on the tube as normal. Right how are we getting on with Chancery Lane?"

"I'll look at that now" replies her colleague. "She had to change at Tottenham Court Road, so I can't see that taking less than twenty, probably twenty five minutes."

"Check from 8.20, just to be sure" Dawn instructs and he begins to click on another document, bringing up a further CCTV image.

"Tom, can you hang on here for a bit until we know whether or not she got off?" He's happy to do so; is hoping for some answers so that they can begin to piece together elements of the puzzle. For an hour and a half, he sits in a corridor on an uncomfortable blue plastic chair, wishing that he'd brought his laptop and scrolling almost absent-mindedly on his phone, while he listens to the indistinguishable chatter from inside the room. He considers ringing Sybil, but the little information he now has seems almost insignificant until it's put into a wider context and he doesn't want to keep bothering her. There's a text from Kieran enquiring whether he has any news and a brief message from his mother, who sounds quite jubilant in her recollection of another school friend of Emma's, leaving him a name and family address. _'She's enjoying the drama of it all'_ he thinks with bitterness as he scribbles the details in the notebook he always carries and tears out the page in order to pass to Dawn. After exiting for a swift cigarette, he returns to sit in further discomfort, his legs splayed out and leans his head on the wall behind, thinking about the unpleasant characters involved in the drugs ring back home and torturing himself with visions of Emma bound and gagged, or perhaps worse. He is wracked with guilt by his hitherto indifference to her stay in London; that he hasn't taken advantage of the opportunity to try and get to know her as an adult, to separate her from the unhappy memories that he has always tried to deflect. He makes a silent vow to compensate when she returns; creates more uplifting thoughts of them spending time together and conjures up an image of him, Emma and Sybil in a pub together, bound by their shared experience and moving into a new chapter of their lives.

It's almost half past four when Dawn calls him back into the office and he identifies Emma waiting in a short queue for the exit at Chancery Lane, committed to film at 8.29 on Tuesday morning. There is no sign of anxiety on her face; she glances to one side for a second or two as she waits, but her face displays no element of alarm or tension before she passes out of sight.

"So she disappeared between the tube station and her office which is about five minutes' walk away. This gives us a much narrower timeframe, so with any luck somebody might have seen something suspicious." Dawn's tone offers encouragement and he finds himself grasping at this sliver of optimism; feeling suddenly confident that the matter can be somehow positively resolved. Within minutes this illusion is instantly shattered as proof is obtained that Emma's mobile phone was switched off thirty three minutes later and that there has been no subsequent sign of activity.

"Where was she at that point?" he asks, aware that his voice is sounding unusually hoarse.

"In the Chancery Lane area. In a side street, slightly off the most obvious route to her office, but not substantially out of her way."

"We need Orange to give us the phone records as soon as possible" Dawn says firmly. "Quickly. Put pressure on them, we need them by tomorrow at the latest." She turns to Tom. "As soon as I've got those, I'd like to talk to you about publicity and what exactly we choose to do. Can you speak to your mother and decide if she's going to come over here, or whether you're going to stay as the main contact? We won't make any firm plans today, but if you can come back tomorrow lunchtime, hopefully we'll be in a position to make a decision one way or another."

A door opens to his left and an anxious looking man in his fifties is ushered through the room, glancing briefly at Tom and appearing intimidated by his surroundings before he is led into the corridor and out of sight.

"Who was that?" Tom asks and Dawn hesitates.

"Somebody we've been interviewing…" she replies "…nothing significant."

"One of Emma's colleagues?" he asks and frowns as she shakes her head.

"No, we've got an officer over at the firm now."

"Well come on then, I thought you said you were going to keep me informed! Even if it's not significant, can you just tell me?"

"It's her therapist" comes the unexpected response. "He's not under suspicion, he's simply assisting us."

"Fuck" is Tom's inarticulate reply, but his initial surprise soon gives way to a more perceptive understanding. "Right, well how did you find out that she was seeing someone? I mean, Sybil didn't mention it."

"I don't think Sybil knows anything about it, it seems that Emma has kept her attendance secret, which is not uncommon."

"So how did you know?" he presses, his mind still racing as he considers the prospect.

"She cancelled an appointment from Sybil's iPad a couple of months ago. We found just one incident of Emma using it. She logged into her work email system one evening, sending herself a reminder for the following morning about something she needed to do in the office and then cancelling her appointment for later that same day. We just wanted to check with him to see if she might have given him any clues to her disappearance."

"And did she?"

"No."

"So what did they talk about?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that, Tom. If it's not relevant to the investigation, then I can't share that type of information."

"Did she seem him regularly? When did she last see him?" Questions roll off his tongue fluently; his own investigative skills have been sharpened within the last twenty four hours and he wishes that he could be more closely involved with the process.

"Tom, I can't give you any details except to say that she was meant to see him on Tuesday evening and didn't turn up." The first piece of the puzzle slots into place as he appreciates the cover that Emma's supposed department drinks event provided, but he realises the futility of trying to press Dawn Pulliver further. He needs to offer a supportive front to her investigation and his persistent questioning is likely to only cause antagonism and resistance.

"OK. So shall I ring you in the morning and arrange what time to come back?" he asks and she smiles with evident relief at his more conciliatory tone.

"Yes please. If anything significant becomes available in the meantime, then of course I'll contact you."

He strolls casually down the corridor, stopping in the station's reception area and offering what he hopes is his most charming smile to the young female officer who is sorting through a large pile of paperwork. While his fingers tap lightly on the desk, he nods his head towards the front door and coolly asks.

"The therapist…oh what's his name? Sorry, I've completely forgotten, you know the guy who's helping with Emma Branson's disappearance? Did he leave any business cards by any chance? Can I take one?"

"No he didn't" she replies, unsure exactly who Tom is but taken in by his friendly confidence. Her shift only began at 2pm and although she recognises him from the corridor earlier, nobody has clarified his role in the investigation.

"Is it Michael? God, I was only talking to him a minute ago and I've completely forgotten his name already! My memory's shocking!" he laughs and shakes his head.

"David" she prompts.

"Of course!"

"David Emerson"

"That's it, thank you. I'll get his number. Thanks for that, bye then!" and he swiftly leaves.

As he walks along the road, he attempts to phone Sybil but the call goes directly to voicemail. Already he's looking forward to sharing the information he's gained with somebody and is certain that she'll be a willing recipient. It's a ten minute stroll to her flat, but he doesn't phone again, announcing his arrival on the intercom and jogging up the stairs, feeling energised by the evidence he's been shown. On first witnessing her appearance, he speculates with some alarm about what he might have interrupted. Her face is red with exertion and she's wearing casual clothes which are heavily creased. There's music playing in the living room, but no obvious sign of another occupant, so he wonders if she was following some kind of exercise DVD.

"Sorry…" she explains, lifting two stained palms towards him "…I was cleaning the oven."

"Christ, I don't think I've ever cleaned my oven" he confesses and she smiles as she moves aside to let him enter the hallway.

"It's the first time I've ever done this one, but I'm trying to keep busy. I've been to the post office, done my weekly shop, cleaned the bathroom, phoned my sister and made a casserole. I didn't know how long you'd be so I was looking for another task."

"I thought something smelled good" he sniffs appreciatively at the aroma of herbs and vegetables, trying to ignore the contrasting odour of oven cleaner wrestling for his attention.

"Would you like some? I've made loads. It'll be ready soon."

He feels instantly embarrassed, certain that she is simply being naturally polite. "Oh don't worry about it, honestly. You don't need to feed me. I'll just bring you up to date and get something back at home."

"Have you had anything to eat at all?" she challenges and he offers a wry smile.

"They gave me a sandwich at the station, although it was a very loose interpretation of the term to be honest."

"Well then. Stop protesting and we'll eat in a few minutes. I haven't had anything since breakfast either, I'm starving." She pulls a face. "I'm afraid that anxiety and tension don't appear to affect my appetite."

"I've learned that very little affects mine. Maybe dysentery." he jokes and she grins as she goes to the sink in order to wash her hands.

"Have you got a Yellow Pages to hand?" he asks and she directs him to a pile of catalogues and magazines next to the sofa in the living room. David Emerson's practice details are easy to find and he quickly writes them down. He can hear Sybil moving about in the kitchen, preparing to serve the meal and gives a gratified smile when she emerges with cutlery, moving to pull out a folded table which is stacked against the wall.

"Will you go to work tomorrow?" he queries as she passes him bowls and plates and he begins to set them out.

"Yes, unless you need me for anything?" He shakes his head and explains the request to return to the station at some point. The meal is carried in; a hearty and nourishing casserole served with crusty bread that she bought at the supermarket earlier and he hasn't appreciated quite how hungry he is, or indeed how long it has been since he has enjoyed a tasty home-cooked meal. He gratefully accepts a beer and as they eat, explains what took place that afternoon and the information he has received. Sybil displays immediate alarm on hearing of the shutdown of Emma's mobile phone and while the situation also leaves him feeling very uneasy, he attempts to put forward a less disturbing explanation.

"She might have made the decision to do so. If she's gone willingly, then she would know that it could be traced. She might have another phone that neither of us know about."

"Do you believe that?" she asks, her eyes meeting his and demanding an honest response.

"No…" he admits "…but that doesn't mean to say it's not possible."

"Do you still think that this gang in Dublin might be responsible?"

He pulls a face and gives a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know. The longer it goes on, the less likely it would be, I guess. What is it now, almost sixty hours since she went missing? I'd imagine that they'd get in contact in some way, but maybe they still will." He exhales loudly. "Christ, I hope it isn't them." The implications of his own guilt under such circumstances are left unsaid but Sybil seems to appreciate the weight of potential responsibility he is carrying and lightly squeezes his arm.

"Don't start beating yourself up until we know more."

"Did you know she was seeing a therapist?"

She shakes her head. "No, but I can understand why she might not want to tell anyone. It's quite a private thing."

"I'm going to go and see him tomorrow."

She looks up with surprise. "I thought you said that the police had interviewed him already?"

"They have, but I want to ask him a few questions as well."

"Do you think there's more to it then?"

"I don't think he's involved, no but I'd like to know what she was seeing him about. I mean, I can probably guess but I'd like to know if there's anything else."

"Is he likely to tell you? Aren't they bound by a Hippocratic oath like doctors?"

"I don't think so; just some kind of moral code, I think but I might be able to persuade him."

Her face is impassive but she stops chewing and stares at him for a while.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"There's no need, but thanks anyway."

"Just in case…" her sentence is unfinished and she looks awkwardly down at her bowl.

"Just in case of what?"

"Well you're very emotionally involved so I'm just concerned that you might come across as a bit…"

"A bit what?" he presses, suddenly feeling a little rattled by her line of questioning.

"Um…over eager or sort of intense, or…"

"Or what, come on, tell me!" he snaps, downing the remainder of his beer and glaring at her.

She flushes a little, but swallows and quickly adds "…intimidating."

His instinctive reaction is to leave. After years of volatile behaviour, he has learned to walk away from conflict, but while he's partly furious at her suggestion, there's also indignation and an element of offence.

"Right, so you find me intimidating, do you?"

"Not me personally, no…" she holds his gaze "…but I can imagine that somebody who doesn't know you possibly might."

"You don't know me" he points out and she pauses for a moment, tipping her head to one side.

"Better than I did twenty four hours ago. And I think I'm a fairly good judge of character."

He chooses his next words carefully. "So what is your preliminary evaluation?"

It's some time before she replies, but he believes that she's simply considering her response, rather than avoiding potential confrontation. "Well…strong minded, committed, loyal, kind-hearted…" she pauses momentarily "…passionate." He ignores the brief stirring in his groin and continues to watch her intently. "All of which can come across as a little intimidating under certain circumstances, so I'm only suggesting that you tread lightly around him because you don't want him to make a complaint and the police to block you from the investigation."

There's a long silence while he processes this information and battles with an instinctive desire to refute at least two of her suggestions. Finally the tension is diluted by the clearing of his throat and nodding as he stands up and politely asks for a second beer. On his return, he gages an element of self-doubt in her eyes and attempts a smile as he sits back down.

"Well I promise to be very polite and respectful to him" he concedes. She concentrates on scooping up the final mouthfuls of her meal and his eyes are drawn to her long tresses of hair, which are falling over her shoulder and partially obscuring her face. As if aware of his scrutiny, she tucks a strand behind her ear and glances at him with a brief smile.

"I'd say that most of those adjectives apply to you as well" he offers and watches her eyebrows rise in response.

"Most?" he spots the flash of a playful grin. "Which one would you omit then?"

"None actually" and he's sure that he can't be the only one who feels that their subsequent silence is charged with emotion. Sybil breaks eye contact first, lightly coughing and rising to her feet in order to clear the table. She refuses his offer of assistance, in return he declines a coffee and signals his intent to go home. He has some work to do; feels obliged to telephone his mother with details of the day's developments and believes that it would be wise to put some distance between himself and Sybil Crawley this evening. Despite any evidence of a deliberate attempt on her behalf, he finds her intoxicating, but holds steadfast his belief that the current circumstances are entirely inappropriate.

She doesn't attempt to hinder his departure; stands leaning against the wall in the hallway again, her weight resting on one leg, the corner of her thumbnail being half-heartedly chewed.

"Are you sure you're alright on your own?" he checks, swiftly eliminating any suggestion of his further company by adding "Why don't you ask a friend round or something?"

"I'm fine" she says firmly.

"Well I'm going to the station at some point tomorrow. I don't know how long I'll be there but…"

"…I'll be home by six…" she offers "…it's my last day at Guy's, I'll be back working shifts at St. Thomas' from Monday."

"So you're around at the weekend?"

"If you need me, yes."

"I'll ring you tomorrow then. I don't want to intrude on your Friday evening. You're probably going out…"

"I was supposed to be meeting some friends, but I've already cancelled. I'm not exactly in the mood for socialising, considering what's going on."

"Well I'll speak to you when I finish at the station. Depends on what time it is, I guess. I'll pop round if it's after six, but otherwise I'll just ring you."

"Of course. I do appreciate you keeping me involved, Tom. I feel a bit helpless really, I wish I could actually do something."

He is unable to think of a practical task to satisfy her; wants to assure her that her company and support is all that he needs at the moment, but is wary that such sentiments will sound trite and incongruous.

"Thanks for dinner; just what I needed. And the beers too, thank you."

They hover awkwardly by her front door, each unsure how to best articulate their goodbyes.

"Right" he says and leans marginally forward to gently clasp her elbow; similar he feels to her demonstration the previous night, but is taken by surprise when she begins to reciprocate and then offers him a hasty kiss on the cheek.

"Let's hope we get some news tomorrow" she says softly and he nods, feeling the tension rising through his body as he contemplates the thought of another day of Emma's bewildering disappearance.

He walks briskly to Kennington tube station and can still smell the sweetness of her skin through the light breeze that penetrates the dusky autumn air.

ooOoo

He is waiting outside David Emerson's office by ten past eight the following morning; wanting to be certain that he can catch him before his morning appointments commence. It's twenty-five minutes before he spots him ambling along the street, a cup of Costa coffee clasped in one hand, his mobile phone in the other. There is no initial recognition, but Tom steps forward as he reaches the door and his introduction provides instant alarm.

"I told the police yesterday all that I know!" David protests and Tom raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"This is nothing to do with the investigation. I just want to know why my sister is seeing a shrink."

"I can't share with you what she's told me in confidence."

"Of course, but you can let me loosely know the subject matter."

"I'm sorry, but it would be inappropriate."

"Look, I don't want to make a scene out here on your practice doorstep, but I'm in a pretty dark place at the moment and I think you can help me." The words are not entirely fictitious; there's an element of truth, but he hopes that he's playing to David's compassionate nature and is rewarded by a hesitant sigh and reluctant entrance to the office.

As the lights are switched on and David hangs his jacket on a nearby hook, he looks awkwardly at Tom.

"How can I help you, really?"

"By telling me what Emma needed to share with a complete stranger."

"Sometimes speaking to someone who is removed from one's personal circumstances can be very beneficial."

"Did she talk about our family, or was there something else?"

David pauses and moves to the cupboard sized kitchen which adjoins the reception area. "It's really quite unethical for me to talk about it."

"Look, I'm quite aware that I've fucked up big time if that helps you in any way with your dilemma. I want to make sure that I can rectify it if…" he takes a deep breath as he inwardly chastises himself "…_when_ she comes home."

He breathes deeply and resists the temptation to shout loudly in frustration at the continued silence.

"Please" he adds and can't help but feel amused by the success of his final plea. For all her faults and omissions, his mother was relentless in her demand for manners from her children and she would be rewarded by its subsequent results. David Emerson flicks the side of the kitchen counter with his middle finger as he contemplates his reply and Tom is aware of the mental battle taking place between professionalism and natural compassion.

"Emma has been significantly affected by your family's separation" he begins with hesitation and Tom nods, no false concurrence required. "I'd like to think that it's been helpful to talk through what's happened and how she feels about the relationships that she has with various members of the family."

"Is there any one particular relationship that's an issue?"

"We've discussed all of them over time. I'm sorry but I really can't provide any specific details."

He feels compelled to compound his own guilt "Including the one with me?"

"As I said, I really can't…"

"…what can I do?" he interrupts sharply. "What do I need to do to improve things when she comes home?"

He watches David breathe evenly as he wrestles with his conscience and instinctive desire to help.

"Be involved in her life. Just be a presence, really. She wants to be part of your life…and your brother's too. That's all I can say. Please don't ask me anything else."

"Was there another topic?" he presses "Was it just family, or did she talk to you about other things?"

David shakes his head and looks awkwardly away "No, just family. I don't know if there were other issues. My job is to listen, not to pry. Patients talk about what they are prepared to share; that's not to say that there weren't other issues, but she certainly didn't raise them with me. She just wants to be loved, I believe. To be honest, that's no different from most people, but she perhaps has more complicated circumstances to deal with and I hope it has helped, being able to talk about it with someone."

Tom closes his eyes momentarily and nods; briefly wonders if his own emotions might be less tumultuous if he was to confide in someone, yet can't imagine opening up to a stranger in this way.

"Thank you. You've been very helpful. I…I…um, I'll try to remedy things when she comes home. I hope it's not too late to make amends."

"It won't be" the therapist adds unexpectedly and the two lock eyes for a moment, before Tom exhales and makes his way to the door.

ooOoo

Detective Bryan Lynch is very satisfied to have been offered the opportunity to work on Emma Branson's disappearance. He's been bogged down amongst bureaucratic paperwork in Dublin for the last two weeks after closing the drug-related shooting case he was working on and half-heartedly assisting colleagues who are investigating a sexual assault on the outskirts of Phoenix Park. It's frustrating not to be in charge and he doesn't feel as if he's made much of a contribution. Added to that, the current moodiness of his teenage daughter is ensuring that life at home is as uncomfortable as that at work and he's delighted to travel to London for a few days; relishing the challenge of leading the Irish angle to the case and hoping that he'll have a chance to pay a brief visit to his sister in Surrey.

Tom watches him make careful notes as he repeats his explanation about the fears of his own involvement in Emma's absence; waiting patiently as the detective narrows his eyes and repeatedly clicks the nib of his biro, before he pushes the bridge of his glasses slowly up his nose and blows his cheeks out in thought.

"I know James Whelan and his cronies and I have to say that this doesn't really follow their usual pattern" he says slowly, finally looking up and making eye contact.

Tom shrugs "I agree. And the longer it goes on, the less I think it's likely, but I can't think of any other reason why somebody might want to abduct my sister, unless it's been an entirely random incident."

"Or there's something in her life that you don't know about?"

"Well there definitely is something in her life that she's kept secret because she's been pretending to visit me at weekends, but it doesn't necessarily mean that it's sinister."

"What do you think it might be?"

"I'm guessing she's got a boyfriend that she doesn't want her flatmate to know about. Maybe he's married or something…oh I really don't know. Until there's some concrete evidence, it's all just speculation."

"Have you spoken to any of your own contacts in Dublin about this Whelan theory?"

"No, Dawn asked me not to. She didn't want it hitting the press in any way until we do a formal appeal. She said that both your and her teams would make their own enquiries."

"I've got someone looking into it…" Bryan advises "…in the meantime, we need to talk about who's going to take part in the appeal."

Tom sighs deeply. "I've spoken to my mother and she's pretty reluctant to fly over here."

Bryan gives him a nod of understanding. "Yes one of my colleagues met her yesterday. She seemed rather upset about her husband being questioned, although we tried to explain that it's simply standard procedure."

"She takes everything personally" Tom says ruefully, wincing again at the memory of last night's conversation. He hadn't mentioned the possibility of his connection to Emma's disappearance, but his mother appeared to lay the blame entirely on his shoulders regardless.

"Well he's been eliminated from our enquiries anyway. Your other sister doesn't seem to have very much contact with Emma and your mother hadn't spoken to her in almost a month."

The door opens and Dawn Pulliver enters, gives a professional nod to each man and holds up a sheaf of white paper.

"We've got Emma's phone records, or at least the first stage of them. We can see the numbers she's been phoning and texting, but we haven't got the actual content of the texts yet. Hopefully that'll be with us in a day or two."

"Anything significant?" Tom asks hopefully.

"They've literally only just arrived. Before we start looking into every number, can you just mark those you know? Yours, Sybil's, anyone in your family?" He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through it, making a note of any numbers that might be relevant. The days in which he knows anybody's contact details off the top of his head are long gone, he struggles sometimes to remember his own. It's a lengthy task and it crosses his mind that in reality he's undertaking the work of a junior officer, although as he had silently wished for further involvement in the case, it wouldn't do to complain. There are many texts and brief calls to Sybil over the last few weeks, the last one to their mother was four weeks ago and he's surprised to see that she had sent a text to Amy only last week. He notes with a start that his own number is listed on 28th August and only then guiltily remembers listening to a message from her on his voicemail, asking if he'd like to meet up again. He'd played it late at night after a few too many drinks, then deleted it without even considering her request and had promptly forgotten about her efforts. Remorse permeates his thoughts and he wearily lowers his head into his hands with self-reproach.

"Are you OK, Tom?" Dawn interrupts, re-entering the room behind him and he is shaken into reality and the completion of his task.

"Sorry, yes…just thinking that's all. I'm nearly done here."

"Do you know of anybody Emma might know in Hong Kong?" The question is unexpected and he shakes his head immediately.

"I don't know most of her friends though, but I can't remember her ever mentioning it. Why?"

"There are regular calls and texts to a number out there; we're following it up."

"Is it possible that her friend Fiona was there before she got to Australia?"

"Emma's been in contact with somebody there ever since she arrived in London and bought this phone. The last text was sent on Sunday, so no. Don't worry, we'll trace it. It's possibly someone from work; her firm has an office out there."

Bryan Lynch follows Dawn into the room and puts his hands casually into his pockets.

"We need to start putting some initial plans into place about publicity" he suggests and Dawn nods, taking a seat while indicating that he should do the same. Tom pushes the telephone details to one side for a moment.

"My mother…" he begins

"…I know" Dawn interrupts. "That's awkward. The maternal angle is very important in a case like this; ideally we do need her on board. If anybody's hiding information or might possibly have seen something, then the sight of an anxious mother does more than anything else to stir feelings of guilt and responsibility. Are you sure we can't persuade her?"

"She's difficult to turn on anything to be honest once she's got her mind set. Her medical problems are relatively minimal when all's said and done, but she's using them as another reason why she can't come."

"What medical problems?"

Tom gives a weary sigh and rolls his eyes. "She's got some problem with her hip, but I mean she's only fifty-eight for Christ's sake, she's not an old lady. It's less than an hour's flight, but you'd think I was asking her to fly to Australia." He looks apologetically at Dawn. "It's not that she doesn't care…" His explanation tails off, for he finds it difficult to quantify his mother's seemingly callous rebuff of such a request.

"Well if we do a press conference, are you prepared to be the main family spokesperson?" Bryan asks.

"Of course, but I do have a suggestion if you feel it would be more helpful to have my mother involved."

Two pairs of eyes are fixed on his as he adds. "Do it in Dublin."

Dawn turns to Bryan. "Do you see that being a problem?"

He shakes his head. "Only for your budget."

"Well my priority is results, so if that's what it takes, then let's arrange it." Her gaze returns to Tom. "I presume you don't have the same aversion to flying in the opposite direction?"

"Of course not"

"We can provide you with protection if you're worried about the threat against you" Bryan adds quickly, but Tom makes it clear that such efforts won't be necessary.

"I've been back a few times without an issue, I don't think they're bothered about me paying a flying visit; they just want to make sure that I don't stay indefinitely."

Dawn looks thoughtful for a moment as she confronts the logistics surrounding this change of plan. "Right, well I'd like to add Emma to the official Missing Persons' Database as of today so that her name is made public, but then I'm thinking that Sunday would be a good day for the press conference." She glances at Bryan who swiftly concurs. "Get it on the Sunday teatime news both here and in Ireland; that's a good audience to have before the working week begins again."

Tom raises his eyebrows in surprise at the news that there is to be a forty eight hour delay and his concern is immediately understood.

"We'll have officers working on the case right up until that point, Tom. Don't think that everything's going to stop for two days. We'll be following up these telephone numbers and processing all the statements from Emma's colleagues; chasing any potential leads. If we find her before Sunday afternoon, I don't think anybody's going to complain about a wasted journey to Dublin, are they?"

Even the mention of such a possibility makes his heart soar a little, but he keeps his feelings in check as further details are discussed and tentative plans put into place.

"Are you going to ask Sybil to come and take part?" he asks and Dawn and Bryan exchange unreadable glances.

"I don't think it's necessary at this stage." Dawn eventually adds. "This should be a family appeal. We might ask for her assistance at a later point if required."

He's only marginally disappointed; would have appreciated her inherent support and a deflection from his mother's inevitable reproach. However, there are people he needs to see in Dublin and her absence means that he is accountable to no one.

Almost an hour later, his task with the telephone numbers complete, he leaves the police station and begins his preparation for Dublin, while Bryan Lynch resigns himself to a swift return home and abandons any plans to visit his sister.


	6. Chapter 6

The Dublin sky is thick with grey cloud and there is a cold wind spreading from the west, its sharp chill permeating Tom's body as he gives an involuntary shiver and realises that his light autumn jacket will prove inadequate for the weekend ahead. _'Home Sweet Home'_ he thinks ruefully as he lights a cigarette outside of the terminal building and glances behind him to see how long he has before Dawn and Bryan catch him up. There was once a time in which he wanted to live nowhere else, but each time he now returns, he is increasingly aware that the emotional ties which bind him are stretching to their limit. His forced exile means that a base in London was not of his choosing; yet he now feels increasingly at home there. Even a removal of the bounty upon his head would no longer inspire him to return to the Irish capital, although like many of his countrymen he harbours distant dreams of a cottage by the coast.

Hastily stubbing out his cigarette, he nods at Dawn as she reaches him, while Bryan appears to be already entrenched in a domestic crisis with his daughter and rolls his eyes at them both while he speaks earnestly into his mobile phone.

"Shall we drop you off at your mother's house" Dawn asks as they wait in the taxi queue but he firmly shakes his head.

"I'm going to the office. Meeting my Editor. I'll make my own way to Mam's after that."

"Well then, we'll drop you there instead" It seems to be an order, rather than a helpful suggestion and he wonders if she wants to be sure of his intentions now that he is in Dublin. As they sit in the back of the cab and Bryan takes his place in the front, she continues with the conversation they had begun on the plane.

"So I'll reconfirm the timings for tomorrow, but provisionally I'd like you, your mother, sister and step-father to come to the Hilton Hotel at midday and we'll go through everything in detail there. We'll prepare a statement on your behalf but of course you'll have input at that point and if any of you want something changed, it won't be a problem. There are certain main points that it's important we include and some psychological key phrases, but you're welcome to include anything that you feel might have personal meaning to Emma if she's watching. Have a chat to your family later today and give that some thought."

He nods and briefly reflects on what he would like to express – _I'm sorry I ignored your messages. I wish I'd seen more of you. I regret my self-imposed absence. If I could turn back time, I'd fight for you from the beginning. _None of those will be uttered on this occasion and he can only hope that he'll have an opportunity to voice them in the future.

"And so you'll speak to Sybil about what we discussed?" Her very name alerts him and he offers her a rare smile as he confirms her request.

"We'll have to start making some initial plans on that score too over the weekend, so it would be good if we could have an answer from her one way or another by tomorrow."

"I'll talk to her later…" he assures "…when I'm done with my Editor and I've had a chance to see my family."

"Of course. " There's a pause. "I think you're right that she's probably more likely to be persuaded by you than me." The tone of her voice indicates that this belief is not entirely pleasing to her, but he doesn't respond further beyond a simple nod.

ooOoo

His Editor, Michael has come into the office today solely in order to meet Tom. The Sunday edition is not his responsibility and therefore Saturday is usually a day in which he enjoys a round of golf, or watches his beloved Leinster play. However, he's happy to make an exception on this occasion and offers a genuine and enthusiastic greeting of welcome.

"It's great to see you Tom…" he enthuses "…I just wish it was under happier circumstances. Christ, how awful for you all." Tom accepts the sympathy and good wishes in equal measure; he's fond of Michael and appreciates all the help and encouragement he provided when he first joined the team.

"Well obviously your leave will be paid…" he continues, initially oblivious to Tom's face clouding with incomprehension. "…I've got Amanda covering for two weeks and we'll assess it after that."

"Why would you do that? I'm only here until tomorrow evening. I can carry on as normal."

"For God's sake Tom!" Michael is clearly astonished by Tom's defence "…you can't report on your own sister's disappearance!"

"Why the hell not? I'm in precisely the best position to provide all the up-to-date information."

"You can't be in any way impartial. Don't be ridiculous, it's unethical!"

"Unethical? Since when have we truly cared about that?"

"Well it's inappropriate, that's for sure. You're far too emotionally involved." He raises his hand to silence Tom's continued protest. "Absolutely not, no! Amanda will follow the case, you can liaise with her if you wish or she can just go about it in the usual way."

"Amanda's got a personal connection to it as well. We went out for a while, a few years ago; she met Emma."

"There's no comparison, Tom and you know it."

"Well can I at least work on other stuff? Leave Amanda to cover this case and I'll do everything else?"

"No Tom. Take some leave and support your family."

"I'll be the best support to my family if I can carry on working. I'll go mad with nothing else to do. Come on Michael, give me a break, I'm at my best when I'm busy!"

"So start that novel you were always saying you had in you, then, Tom. But this certainly isn't the time to be led by deadlines and schedules. Amanda will cover for two weeks and then we'll discuss it further. Hopefully Emma will be home safe and sound…" he pats the wooden desk lightly with two fingers "…but if she isn't, then we'll have another talk about it all."

Tom shakes his head in defeat. "I suppose you'll still want an exclusive when she's back though" he spits bitterly and Michael watches him with only sympathy as he battles with his frustration and resentment.

"I just want her to come back safely, Tom. No drama, no story. I think, on this occasion, we'll both settle for that."

ooOoo

His second meeting takes place at a back table within a Starbucks in close proximity to St. Stephen's Green. It's filled with tourists and students, interspersed with the occasional harassed looking parent, attempting to bribe their offspring into staying immobile for a few minutes with babycinos and brightly coloured biscuits.

Ken Burden appears notably slimmer than the last time Tom had seen him and he offers a professional handshake before sitting down opposite with a cup of tea, nodding his head towards Tom's double chocolate muffin and Americano.

"I can't eat those anymore" he explains ruefully, patting his chest. "High cholesterol. I'm on a low-fat diet; doctor's orders. It catches up with you in the end."

Tom raises an eyebrow in response. "I'll take my chances" he replies, before adding somewhat incredulously. "Seriously, do you not drink at all now?"

"One glass of red wine a day. You know, for the heart? Two if my wife's not watching!" A brief sigh expels before he sits straight and gives Tom an intent stare.

"I couldn't believe it when you said to meet here" Tom can't help but smile at his contact's apparent character reformation. "You usually don't tell me anything until you've drunk me under the table!"

"Yeah well, I'm not young like you. There's only so long you can live that lifestyle and survive to tell the tale; you of all people should know that. I've got grandchildren now and I'd like to live to see them grow up a bit, you know? Anyway, I'm known in every pub within a 20 mile radius of the city. In here, I can just blend in and be a respectable older gentleman."

"OK" Tom concedes "So what have you found out for me, then?"

"It's not them."

"You're sure?"

"Certain. I've had it confirmed from the horse's mouth so to speak. Not their style, not their line of business."

There's silence while Tom digests this information, both relieved and frustrated.

"Do they know anything about it at all?"

"Nothing."

He closes his eyes momentarily. "Where the fuck is she?" he mutters for only his own benefit and Ken, a committed family man, watches him with genuine compassion.

"They said to tell you that none of your relations are under threat in any way."

"Right"

"But Tom…"

"What?"

"They'll let you visit for the purposes of the investigation."

"Well that's very good of them" Tom snaps, his voice heavy with sarcasm, but Ken replies impassively.

"But the threat still stands. They were very clear about that. Move back here and you're a dead man."

ooOoo

Nothing has changed at his mother's house, only the circumstances behind her current misery. He feels his body automatically tense with anticipation as he opens the gate and approaches the front door. David opens it and Tom is surprised to note how much older he now appears. Only two years his mother's senior, he has recently entered his seventh decade, but on today's evidence could easily pass for someone ten years older. They have avoided one another for years, but today exchange a terse handshake as Tom enters the house.

"Your mother's in the sitting room. She's very distressed."

"Has something else happened?" Tom asks, unable to avoid the temptation of an effort at false innocence. "Only she sounded quite perky when she left me a message yesterday?"

David sighs "It comes and goes; it's been a difficult few days." Tom is unclear whether his step-father's demeanour reflects genuine concern for Emma or whether the effect of his mother's reaction is simply taking its toll.

Margaret O'Shea, formerly Branson, doesn't rise as he makes his entrance, but moans his name softly and pats the seat on the sofa beside her. She accepts his perfunctory kiss on the cheek as usual, but he is then taken by surprise as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close. He can't remember her having done that since he was a small boy and closes his eyes; momentarily recollecting a rare childhood comfort before his attention is returned to the present and he is released.

So estranged from her in empathy and understanding, he struggles to find adequate words for their predicament, something that is not usually a problem in his life and so compromises by taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

"I knew she shouldn't have moved to London" she finally offers and he shakes his head.

"London's no more dangerous than Dublin, Mam."

"Well she's never been abducted in Dublin, has she?"

"No but we don't actually know that's the case now."

"Where do you think she is, Tom?" Her wail resonates with anger and distress and he can only shake his head helplessly.

"I honestly don't know."

A voice from the other side of the room interrupts. "We were texting last week and she seemed fine." He swings his head in the direction of his half-sister, Amy and all at once is struck by her resemblance to Sybil. She's no longer a little girl, is becoming a woman and her long hair is voluminous and glossy, falling forwards over her shoulders as she perches on the edge of a chair looking anxious.

"Yeah well that doesn't mean anything" he snaps, automatically resorting to his usual irritation with her. Her umbrage is clear and he notes with self-reproach the tears which spring suddenly in her eyes.

"I'm sorry" His regret is genuine, but she turns her gaze away from him.

It's not her fault. Her arrival in the world cemented the final nail in the coffin for his parents' marriage; a last realisation that there would be no reversal of its fortune and with the concluding flame of hope extinguished, his father soon fell into the final stage of irreversible decline. He can remember David proudly handing her to him and then staring emotionlessly at her in his arms, finding it incomprehensible that they had emerged from the same womb. Regardless of his adult indifference to Emma's wellbeing, he had always felt some kind of fundamental connection. The fact that she was part of Da, irrespective of his minimal involvement in her life, bound them in a way that Amy never could. Yet Amy is ultimately blameless in the complicated mess of their family dynamics. Her silliness and dramatic behaviour in the past have been displays of childishness rather than any deliberate effort to separate herself from her half-siblings. She is an only child in many ways, yet has attempted to cling to some form of association over the years, demanding of his and Emma's attention and in all likelihood, hoping for some display of reciprocal sibling affection.

David pats her comfortingly on the back and glares at Tom. Under normal circumstances he would defend his daughter at the slightest hint of criticism, but appears unwilling to create any additional antagonism today, when the focus is all about Emma; or rather Margaret's despair for her.

"I'll make some coffee shall I?" he asks "Come on Amy, come and give me a hand, love will you?"

Tom returns his focus to his mother. "The police want us to get to the Hilton Hotel for midday tomorrow."

She nods wordlessly and he continues with his explanation of what will take place, preparing her for the questions that will be asked and the consideration she needs to give for a personal message to Emma.

"We'll all go to mass at nine" she remarks and he is under no illusions that this is a polite request.

"I don't really go any more, Mam" he says hesitantly.

"You'll come tomorrow…" she snaps and meets his eye directly "…say some prayers for your sister."

"I'll not take communion" he concedes and she offers a curt nod.

"Everyone will be coming out for her tomorrow" and he can't help but see only cynicism in this declaration. She wants a picture of family unity to parade before the neighbourhood. Her daughter may have disappeared and she is estranged from her elder son, but Tom's presence will provide evidence of the committed family unit she longs to display. He will be paraded like a trophy, while any suggestion of Kieran's existence will be swept to one side.

"_My son Thomas, who's a journalist in London"_ His stomach clenches in anticipation of the charade, but he knows that he will comply with her demands regardless. In spite of everything that has taken place, he continues to evade deliberate confrontation and yearns for her genuine approval.

ooOoo

It's almost 10pm when he is finally able to escape the oppression of his family downstairs and retreat to their spare room in order to telephone Sybil. He expects her to be in some way occupied, regardless of her lack of desire to socialise on the back of Emma's absence and apologises if his interruption is inconvenient.

"I'm watching old re-runs of 'Have I Got News For You' on Dave" she says, a little laugh accompanying her admission. "I wanted something light-hearted and not at all challenging."

"Have you been on your own all day?" He is concerned that isolation will breed despair and while he understands the emotion behind her melancholy, needs her to stay focussed and positive.

"No, I met up with my friend Anna earlier. We had a little mooch around the shops, went for coffee and then I went back to hers for a bit. Her boyfriend cooked a little BBQ in the garden as the weather's still so nice. Probably the last one of the year, I should think."

"It's cold, windy and gloomy here"

"Is it? Oh sorry. Well it will be here too soon I expect. Anyway, I got back at about eight o'clock, I guess. I don't want to be out in the evenings, I want to be back here, just in case…"

"…she comes back." He completes her sentence and she concurs quietly before losing herself in further thought about her flatmate's plight. "And then my sister Mary has been on the phone, worrying herself silly about me being here on my own and trying to persuade me to go and visit her in Manchester, but I've made it very clear that I'm quite safe and need to stay here for the time being."

"Well it's nice that she cares" he offers and then hopes he hasn't sounded in any way resentful at her having sisters on hand for sympathy and advice. "You'll have to tell me more about your family when I'm back."

Her initial reply is guarded "I thought you'd already read up on them?"

"Only that your Dad's an Earl and I'm sure that's the least interesting thing about you."

He is rewarded by a low, throaty laugh. "Well I think that's possibly one of the nicest things that anybody has ever said about me!" and he can't help but smile silently with gratification.

"I've got something to ask you."

Her reply is almost teasing in its tone and he wishes with all his heart that his request was of a more personal nature. "Oh yes?"

"Um, yeah. Dawn asked me. They're thinking of doing a reconstruction."

He hears only the slightest beat of hesitation before she replies.

"OK"

"Obviously if they get some concrete information as a result of this press conference, then they might not need to, but provisionally they're thinking of doing it on Tuesday morning."

"At the same time she disappeared."

"Exactly"

"Right, so they'll want to do it from the flat I presume?"

"That's right and well…you know, usually they use an actress or something."

"Yes, I've seen them on 'Crimewatch' in the past"

"But Dawn was wondering if you would do it?"

The enquiry is clearly unexpected, but she doesn't hesitate for long.

"Well I could, but don't they want someone who looks more like her?"

"You're about the same height and have similar length hair."

"But mine's quite a bit darker than Emma's"

"I don't think it needs to be exactly the same."

"Plus hers is nicely straight and smart, while mine is usually an unruly mess."

"It's lovely" The compliment escapes his lips before his brain catches up and he winces in anticipation of it being an unwelcome declaration.

"Thank you" she says softly and he clears his throat, quickly deflecting from his involuntary admission to the only facts she currently needs to know.

"Anyway, it only has to be a general likeness, apparently. Although they'd want you to dress the same; they'll provide a grey suit like she had on last Tuesday. You'd just have to follow the route she took to Chancery Lane and you'd be followed by the police and a camera crew all the way. There's no edition of 'Crimewatch' scheduled in the next week, but they'll get the news channels to show it and obviously, the hope is that someone's memory will be triggered by seeing you at the same time and place."

"Sure."

"But you don't have to do it you know; if you think it would be too upsetting. Dawn was very clear about that; there's no obligation at all. They'll get an actress if you don't want to."

"Will you be involved?"

"I'll be with the police following behind you, yes."

"I'll do it."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes. I want to help…do something. Of course."

"OK, I'll let Dawn know and she'll reconfirm on Monday when they've had a chance to assess the reaction to the press conference. It'll have to take place quite early though."

"Well yes, she left just after quarter to eight, so it'll have to be."

"Dawn said that they'd want to be at your flat for about 6.30 to go through it all with you and get you ready."

"That's fine."

"I'll make sure I'm there by then as well."

"Can you get here by that time?"

He thinks momentarily. "Yeah, the tube runs from 5.30 doesn't it? Even earlier, I think. It won't be a problem."

"I was just thinking…"

"What?"

"Well, if you want to…I mean don't worry if it's inconvenient; you've probably got loads to do at home."

"Not really, what are you going to suggest?"

"That you stay at the flat the night before."

"Uh…OK. If you'd like me to." He wants to ensure that he chooses his words extremely carefully and that neither of them misinterprets their meaning.

"I know you said that you didn't want to sleep in Emma's bed"

"Well, no…not ideally. I mean, I'm sure she wouldn't mind actually, but it just feels a bit weird, that's all."

"Yes I can totally understand that. Anyway, the settee in the lounge is a sofa bed and I've got a spare single duvet and pillow you can use. It's quite comfortable, I promise. I slept on it when Mary stayed with me."

He can't help but smile to himself. Really, what else was he anticipating by the question? His heart continues to beat more quickly than usual but he ensures that she can gage no hint of it as he agrees.

"Believe me, I can sleep anywhere. It'll be more than fine."

"And I can cook us something to eat if you like. Only if you want to come earlier, I mean I don't want to monopolise your time."

"Well if it's half as good as that casserole, then that sounds great. Thank you."

"I'm on an early shift on Monday so come at whatever time suits you. You know, if they're definitely going ahead with it. And then I'm doing a late on Tuesday anyway, so I can probably still go into work afterwards."

"You might not feel up to it" he warns.

"We'll see. Maybe they'll get some information from the press conference and it won't be necessary anyway."

"Let's hope so." He wishes he could share her optimism. "Right, well I'll leave you to your TV re-runs and probably see you on Monday evening then."

"Good luck for tomorrow. I hope it goes OK. Well, you know as well as…"

"…can be expected" he completes her train of thought.

"Yes. When are you flying back?"

"Quite late tomorrow evening." There's a brief pause. "I'll just go straight to my flat, I think."

"Of course!" she says hurriedly, sounding slightly embarrassed, although he's tempted to let her know that in reality, he would like to come and see her after what is certain to be a stressful and emotive day. He remains silent, however, aware that he has neglected errands to take care of at home, even if he appears to have no professional work to undertake in the immediate future.

"Well regardless, I'll come and see you on Monday at some point." he concludes.

"Yes, thank you for ringing, Tom and always keeping me in the loop. I'll be thinking about you all tomorrow. Good night."

For a short while he sits on the bed, resting against the headboard, feet outstretched. Then he reaches into the rucksack he has carried all day and brings out the four pack of beer that he purchased en-route to his mother's house, knowing that he was unlikely to be offered even a glass of wine with dinner. As if to substantiate the failure of her first marriage, Margaret had ensured that her next husband shared few character traits of the first and although David isn't entirely teetotal, she has not broken her longstanding habit of trying to ensure that no alcohol is kept at home. He slips his forefinger under the ring pull and gives it a sharp tug, lifting the can to his lips with a satisfied grunt before leaning back again with gratification. He thinks about Emma, Amy and Sybil - random threads of contemplation which interest, depress and excite him in turn. He finishes his beer, drinks another, then another and it's almost two hours later, when his thoughts are distorted by a combination of alcohol and exhaustion that he feels in any way adequately prepared to face the challenges of tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you so much to everyone who voted for me in the Highclere Awards! Clearly my attention to detail isn't as good as it should be, as I didn't even realise that 'Perfect Delivery' was nominated for best Tom & Sybil categorisation. Therefore, my surprise was even greater when I woke up on Saturday morning to messages congratulating me on winning them both! Also, 'Walls Come Tumbling Down' came second for the best Tom/Sybil romance, so I was really thrilled. Like most authors on this site, I write for fun and personal fulfilment, but I still wholeheartedly appreciate knowing that others are enjoying my stories. I think huge credit should go to the organisers of these awards; it must be an enormous task to co-ordinate it all._

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Sybil watches the press conference on both the teatime and late night news. It's a brief feature on the national show, but its inclusion is extended for the regional programme which immediately follows. There's a fleeting shot of Dawn Pulliver, although her speech is mostly inaudible as the TV reporter overrides it with an explanation of the chain of events which led to Emma's disappearance. The press are provided with the scene which will inevitably feature in tomorrow's newspapers; the weeping mother begging for her daughter's safe return, her harried looking husband attempting to console both her and his own child, who appears red-eyed and seemingly overwhelmed by the entire experience. The angle alters and Tom speaks directly into the camera; the intensity of his bright blue eyes seems to penetrate Sybil's observing gaze and she finds herself clutching the arm of her sofa as she concentrates on his words.

"We miss you both in Dublin and London, Emma. Come back soon and we'll take another trip to Sandycove." Sybil recognises the location as the one written on the back of a photograph Tom had found in Emma's room and although she doesn't know the exact history behind it, guesses that the occasion elicits a pleasant memory from their childhood. Tom is attempting to let his sister know that he has found her photographs and should she be missing voluntarily, to lure her home with promises of enhanced sibling unity for the future.

It's unusually early when she leaves for St. Thomas' the following day; she wants half an hour to catch up on any events which took place during her week's absence before today's morning shift commences. The first copies of the complimentary _'Metro'_ newspaper haven't yet arrived at Kennington tube station and while there's a light on behind the still closed shutters of the kiosk, she doesn't attempt to purchase one either. At work she glances at pages of _'The Independent'_ lying open in the staff room and sees the photograph of a stern looking Tom sitting next to his distressed mother. She tries to deflect the mixture of sympathy and curiosity provided by her colleagues and reiterates the few facts she knows, but doesn't read the article, intending to take a look on-line when she returns home. It's late afternoon when she finally turns the corner to her flat, having stopped en-route at the supermarket and she's therefore utterly unprepared for the sight of journalists waiting on the pavement. Before she can think with any clarity or turn on her heel to temporarily avoid them, one of the pack spots her and alerts the others.

"Lady Sybil! Have you heard any more about the investigation?"

"Can we have a photograph Lady Sybil?"

"Lady Sybil, do you have any comment about Emma's disappearance?"

"Where do you think Emma might be?"

Like sharks approaching their prey; they begin to circle round her, gradually edging closer; their previous request for permission to photograph her now ignored and she instinctively raises her hand to deflect a camera lens which narrowly misses her head.

"Excuse me, please can I get to the door?" she politely requests, forced to stand still and hearing repeated clicks as her image is captured on film.

"Can you tell us how you feel about Emma going missing, Lady Sybil? Are you frightened for your own safety?" a wily looking young man asks, standing directly before her and offering a wide smile. Sybil is suddenly transported back to her childhood and reminded of the fox in _'Jemima Puddleduck'_ as his guileful expression clearly anticipates her willing co-operation.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything more than the police already have, now I really have to ask you to move out of the way so I can get into my flat."

"Expecting company?" the young journalist asks with a grin, nodding his head at the bulging carrier bags she is holding and Sybil has to bite her tongue in order to stop herself from attempting a sharp retort. She knows that silence is the only appropriate response and so smiles in return as she reaches into a bag for her key and indicates once again that she would like to enter the housing block. Accepting defeat, the group reluctantly separates and she feels her hand trembling as the key turns and she finally closes the door behind her. There are windows into the corridor so she's aware that they can witness her journey to the staircase and she sighs in frustration as Mr Irwin emerges from his flat as she passes.

"They've been there all day!" he announces and she nods firmly with what she hopes is an empathetic expression.

"I'm sorry about that Mr Irwin, I didn't expect it at all. It's because of my flatmate, Emma you see. She's gone missing and it was on the news last night."

"Oh I know, the police were crawling all over here last week." he replies triumphantly "So you're a Lady, are you? I didn't know we had royalty in our midst!"

Sybil's smile is waning now and she is determined to move out of the journalists' line of sight. "I'm certainly not connected to the Royal Family, Mr Irwin. It's a fairly antiquated title, which I haven't used for many years, I don't really know where they got it from."

"Well it's in all the papers, look!" and he thrusts a copy of _'The Daily Mail'_ towards her, which has devoted a double page spread to Emma's disappearance. Underneath the press conference photograph, she notes a shot of Downton Abbey and a smaller headline in bold print '**Emma's flat share with the Earl of Grantham's daughter'**. A cursory glance at the second article reveals information about her parents and job and only a brief one line explanation that the Abbey is no longer their family home.

"Right, well thank you for that, Mr Irwin. If you have any information about Emma, you'll let the police know, won't you? I need to get upstairs now and put these bags down. Bye then."

Her legs are shaking when she finally enters her own living room and she carefully places the bags on the floor, before sitting down and covering her face with her hands. Taking long, deep breaths in the manner she advises any patients experiencing panic, she sits up and tries to digest what has just taken place. So caught up in the events surrounding her flatmate's disappearance and the ensuing family press conference, she hasn't even considered the possibility of the press's interest in her own involvement. Her title and family background are irrelevant to the case, but even in the midst of her shock, she can appreciate that it might bring it additional attention; a 'hook' on which to ignite the public's interest. She doesn't want to actively encourage it, but neither should she attempt to disregard any attempts to include her position in the tale. A telephone call of warning will be required to her parents and sisters, although it seems unlikely that they will have escaped the day without some contact being made. She has spoken to each of them over the weekend, but like her, they had seemed oblivious of the likely interest in her connection to the case.

She moves surreptitiously towards the window, craning her neck as she approaches and is unsurprised to see camera lenses firmly pointed towards her flat. Quickly and firmly, she pulls the curtains shut and switches on a table lamp before taking her bags into the kitchen and switching on the kettle. Although the kitchen window faces in another direction, she is taking no chances and pulls down the blind. It's only when faced with the resulting dim light that she notices the answer machine flashing and with increasing irritation, listens to several messages from journalists requesting an interview either in person or over the phone. Her initial reaction is to swiftly delete them, but she possesses enough understanding to realise that she ought to play them to Tom later and listen to his opinion on how important her participation may be.

In an attempt to divert her attention from the crowd outside, she switches on some music, drinks tea and begins preparations for the spaghetti bolognaise that she plans to serve later. As the onions and garlic gently fry, she begins to feel herself slowly relax and her spirits rise further when the doorbell soon rings. Anticipating Tom's arrival, she is therefore taken by surprise at the unexpected appearance of PC Scott Velluci, who cheerily announces himself over the intercom and makes his way upstairs to the flat.

"Do you have some news?" she asks with a mixture of hope and expectation. "Tom will be here shortly, he's en-route at the moment."

PC Velluci shakes his head with a solemn air. "I'm afraid not, no. I was just on my regular beat and noticed the press hanging around outside, so I wanted to check that you're alright?"

"Well that's very kind, thank you but I'm absolutely fine. It's an irritation rather than any huge inconvenience. I guess any coverage at this stage is a positive thing; if it's going to keep Emma in the public's mind then I'm not going to complain."

"I didn't realise that you were a Lady" he replies with a shy smile. "You didn't mention that when we were taking all your details the other night."

Sybil spirits sink a little; she should be used to this level of curiosity by now, but it's annoying nonetheless. "I don't use the title, so it's irrelevant. That kind of thing sells newspapers, but it's not of any real importance."

He nods, still smiling at her and she waits for him to politely take his leave. Instead he begins to look around him and repeats a couple of questions concerning Emma's last morning here, all of which were covered when he previously visited with his colleague. With weary resignation, she provides identical replies, unsure how such repetition can be helping the enquiry and when he sits down on the sofa, feels that she has no alternative but to offer him a cup of tea.

They're chatting courteously about his police academy training and her work in A&E, when the doorbell rings again and Sybil feels relieved that Tom has arrived to curtail the officer's irrelevant discussion. As she holds her front door open, her eyes roll to indicate her unwelcome visitor, however he doesn't seem to notice; telling her about his afternoon discussion with Dawn Pulliver and the plans for tomorrow's reconstruction as he removes his jacket, before strolling into the living room and stopping abruptly in his tracks.

"What are you doing here?" The curtness in this opening statement makes Sybil wince with embarrassment and PC Velluci's youthful appearance begins to turn a light shade of red. As he offers a halting explanation, Tom's eyes narrow and he interrupts.

"Are you here to assist with the investigation at all, do you have something constructive to tell me about my sister?"

"Tom!" The admonishment escapes Sybil's lips before she has time to even consider a response. "Scott was being very thoughtful about the press outside, he was just checking that they aren't causing too much of a problem."

With a sharp raise of his eyebrows, Tom turns to face her and as her eyes meet his, she catches a glimpse of the temperamental individual who she encountered when he first entered her life. PC Velluci mutters his intention to leave and rises awkwardly to his feet. In an attempt to rectify Tom's discourtesy, Sybil shakes his hand warmly and guides him to the door, reiterating her thanks for his concern and assuring him that she will contact the station if she feels in any way threatened by the situation.

"Well you were very rude" she declares on her return and Tom snorts with derision.

"Scott? That's very professional of him!"

"Does it matter whether we use their surnames or not? They're trying to make us feel at ease; want to help us."

"Why did he suddenly come round anyway, has he been hanging around your flat?"

"He said that he was just passing and saw the press waiting outside."

Tom repeats his earlier snort. "I bet he was!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She's irritated by the suggestion, but suspects that she can anticipate his reply.

"Well he obviously fancies you and is looking for a good excuse to worm his way into your affections."

She fails in her efforts to curtail the smile of amusement which crosses her face. "Well if you think that's all it takes…"

"He's all of about twelve." Tom mutters churlishly and Sybil turns away from him so that he can't see her beginning to laugh.

"He's twenty one!" she calls over her shoulder as she walks into the kitchen to resume her meal preparations and grins as Tom continues with his ill-natured objection.

"Oh right, so you know all about him now, do you? Swapped personal details?"

He's hovering under the doorframe and she swings round on her heel, tips her head to one side and offers him a challenge "Anyone would think you're jealous!" before returning to face the cooker hob. She hears his sharp inhalation of breath, followed by a contemptuous tut.

"I don't want anyone taking advantage of your good nature, that's all."

"Well that's very sweet of you…" she acknowledges "…but I can take good care of myself. But it's nice that you feel so protective of me." Once again, she turns around so that she can watch the expression on his face as she completes her train of thought. "I've never had a brother, but perhaps you're giving me an indication of what it's like!" For a split second he doesn't react, but his eyes bear into hers before he looks away into the living room and gives the briefest of nods. She can't be certain if he's considering the frailty of his own relationship with Emma, or whether perhaps his feelings towards Sybil are in fact, anything but brotherly.

ooOoo

Cordialities are restored before they sit down to eat. Sybil opens a bottle of wine and Tom compliments her once again on her culinary efforts.

"So what made you want to be a doctor?" he asks as he twirls spaghetti effortlessly around his fork.

"I've always wanted to do it. You know, I had the traditional toy medical kit when I was about four or five and unlike most children, just never grew out of it."

"And did you always want to work in A&E?"

"No, that came later, really after I did a spell there during my early training. I was inspired by the variety it provides, no two days ever being the same. I mean, the downside is that you don't build up a relationship with the patients, because they either move to a ward or go home and if they do come back, it's for outpatient clinics so we never see them again. But there's a real buzz to it, especially if there's a big accident somewhere and everyone's called to get involved." She looks momentarily bashful. "I know that sounds awful; I mean of course I don't want people to get hurt, but the fact is that they do and you get a real rush of adrenalin when it's all hands on deck, working together."

"The training's quite intense isn't it, not to mention long?"

"Well I did six years and I'm only a junior doctor now, so I'm still studying for the next level. Yeah, it's pretty all-encompassing at times; there's good reason why medical students have a reputation for partying hard, because they have to work so hard in between."

"Did you party hard then?" he's clearly amused by the concept and she makes a face at him.

"Don't look so surprised! I wasn't as bad as some of them, but yeah I could hold my own on a night out. I've calmed down a lot since I started working though; decided that I needed to be a little more sensible, not to mention look after my liver a bit."

"I drink too much." The declaration is unexpected. He glances at her and then looks immediately away.

"Do you? I hadn't noticed." She keeps her tone deliberately light, not wanting to offer judgement or advice, appreciating that it wasn't an easy admission to make.

"I think there's a genetic propensity to over-indulge in my family. My Da never knew when to stop and it killed him in the end."

"Was it cirrhosis of the liver?" she asks impassively and he nods.

"I need to watch it; I'm only fifteen years younger than he was when he died. It's a horrible way to go."

"Yes it's horrific. I find it hard to believe that you're anyway near that category though."

"Not yet, no. I get drunk a lot though. I drink when I'm happy and drink when I'm pissed off. My tolerance level is worryingly high. Look, I've downed my second glass of wine already and you've only had a few sips." He rubs his forehead and winces at the depth of his confession. "I'm well aware that I have to make a conscious effort to change in some way and become more responsible with it all. I need to stop smoking as well; it's a disgusting habit. I have tried to quit several times, but…" he tails off helplessly and shrugs.

"Well it's very hard" she says with genuine sincerity. "My Dad gave up when I was quite small and he found it very difficult. In fact, he says that even now, twenty odd years later, he sometimes still fancies one from time to time."

"What was it that made him finally give up then?"

"My elder sister Mary was at school and I guess they must have been learning about it because she came home, burst into tears and started telling him that he was going to die! So he just gave up almost overnight, but that's not to say that it wasn't very hard. My Mum says that he was quite difficult to live with for a while."

"I could do with something to give me a kick start like that, I think."

"Well perhaps one day you'll have a child who'll inspire you to stop too."

"Christ, I'd like to think that I'd quit before then. Perhaps you should send your sister to come and have a go at me instead."

She raises her eyebrows and grins. "Maybe I will; she can still be quite intimidating at times, it might work! Anyway, you need to want to do it for yourself. I don't think there's any point in other people telling you to, it won't work."

"I've had plenty of people tell me that I should give up over the years."

"Well I'm sure there'll come a time when there's something in your life that motivates you to really want to and then you will. I'm quite certain that you could do anything you put your mind to if you were truly committed."

He holds her gaze for a moment and then nods before looking back down at his plate.

"Thank you. So what does your sister do?"

"Mary? She's a solicitor. As is her boyfriend...I mean fiancé. They live in Manchester."

"And the other one?"

"She's a journalist too actually, on the Yorkshire Evening Post. But she does features rather than reporting."

"I do both these days. The readers like to know what's going on in the UK psyche, like the British mood during the Olympics, or how the nation became obsessed by who killed Danny Latimer in _'Broadchurch';_ that kind of thing. But anyway, what kind of features does she write?"

"She works on the female supplement, so all supposedly women-friendly articles about one's life-work balance, shopping, health, fertility, fashion. But she's recently been asked to help out with the book reviews, which is what she's always wanted to do, so she's hoping that might become a bigger part of her role in time."

"And your parents? Do they actually work?" He looks momentarily embarrassed "Sorry, I'm not being facetious with that question. I know your family sold the estate, despite the newspapers all showing a picture of it today, but I haven't got a clue if that means they have to work or not."

"They work for the National Trust on the estate; some guiding, giving talks to various groups who come etc. People get off on talking to an Earl and Countess for some reason, but Dad knows all about the ancestral history in detail and of course, he can slip in all these little family stories which visitors just love!"

"And they live where?"

"In the village nearby. They've lived in the same house since they were first married. My grandfather sold the estate a few years before he died. If he hadn't then we'd have moved to the Abbey but I'm glad we didn't."

"Why?"

"Well I remember what a poor state of repair it was in when I was little because there was just no money to keep it up. I mean my grandparents tried to move with the times and open it to the public and all that kind of thing, but they didn't really know what they were doing and anyway, it wasn't enough. There were buckets in some of the upstairs rooms at one point, to catch the rain water because they couldn't afford to have the roof repaired. And my father would have had all these death duties to pay when he inherited so my grandfather made the decision to sell it before my Dad was put in that position. The National Trust has done a fantastic job with it, it's back to its former glory and anyone can go and visit it which is how it should be."

"It looks stunning in the photos"

"It is, but it would be ridiculously large for a family of five. You know, we had a lovely, roomy house to grow up in anyway; we weren't exactly hard done by and we still get to use the Abbey for parties and things."

He looks curiously at this explanation and she clarifies further. "The National Trust rents it out for events and functions, but our family gets a huge discount because it was our ancestral seat and my parents work there. Kind of 'mates rates', you know? So we've had quite a few family functions there and Mary's getting married there next year, which is what she's always wanted."

"What about you, is it what you've always wanted too?"

"To get married per se, or to have my wedding at Downton?"

He shrugs and offers a lop-sided smile. "I don't know, both I guess."

"I've never met anybody that I wanted to marry, so I've not given either any serious thought to be honest. I'll let you know when I do." All of a sudden she feels awkward about their train of thought and resorts to humour in order to diffuse it; offering what she hopes is an infectious grin. He responds in kind and all of a sudden she's simply so glad that he's here; can't think of anyone else that she would prefer to keep company with on the eve of the reconstruction. Although she is genuinely pleased to be able to help, she can't help but feel nervous and knows that it's going to make the seriousness of Emma's disappearance feel more of a reality.

"I'm sorry about earlier" His words interrupt her train of thought and she's momentarily confused. "You know, Scott Velluci? I was out of order, but the press outside rattled me. I shouldn't have taken it out on either you or him." She's not entirely convinced by his explanation, but believes the apology is sincerely meant.

"I think I should give you a key" she says and he looks startled by the suggestion. "We're both on unreliable schedules at the moment; you never know how long you might need to be at the station, I'm back on shifts and sometimes I have to stay on later. You know, I can't just walk away at half past two if someone's leg's hanging off!" Her attempt at humour is successful and he laughs before she continues.

"I don't know how long it'll be before the journalists lose interest but I wouldn't want you to be stuck outside with them there, so if you have a key, you can just let yourself in."

He looks a little awkward and she presses on. "Just in case, that's all. You might never need to use it."

"OK" he concedes "…thank you. But I'll always ring you first; don't think that I'll ever just turn up unannounced."

She nods in acknowledgement and they share a conspiratorial smile. He's already told her as much as he can about what will take place in the morning; there have been no substantial leads as a result of yesterday's press conference and the police are wading through the calls they have received as a result. Most are amateur attempts to solve the case by guesswork, but the team will look into each one as a matter of course.

"I should probably get an early night" Sybil suggests, although she doubts that she'll be able fall asleep quickly with all the thoughts that are floating around her head in preparation for the following day. He helps her unfold the sofa bed and she retrieves a duvet, sheet and pillow from the top of her wardrobe. There's a polite exchange about who should use the bathroom first and Tom parks himself firmly in an armchair as he insists that he will wait.

"Goodnight then, help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen" She hovers under the doorframe of her bedroom in her pyjamas and tries to decipher any meaning in the grin which accompanies his return greeting. It's a lifelong habit not to shut her bedroom door entirely, stemming from anxiety about the dark as a child when she wanted reassurance from the landing light infiltrating her room. She busies herself by tidying away her clothes and flicking almost absent-mindedly through the day's post, until she hears the click of the bathroom light and Tom's light footsteps padding back into the living room. Turning her head, she sees him emerge, wearing boxer shorts and a plain white t-shirt and watches as scratches his head and yawns before reaching for a book in his bag and settling under the duvet. She isn't sure how long she stands there; unwilling to avert her eyes yet anxious that her curious scrutiny will be soon detected. He doesn't appear to be conscious of the fact that she's not yet asleep and he scans the book with avid concentration, his finger and thumb caressing the corner of a page as it waits its turn. Finally, she tiptoes noiselessly to her bed, turns back the duvet and switches off her bedside light as she tries to snuggle down with minimal audible accompaniment.

"Night!" he calls out cheerfully and she has no idea whether or not he was aware of her silent observation.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you as always for all your positive reviews and messages. Sincere thanks to MTT-VB who kindly offered to beta as and when I wanted some feedback. Her constructive thoughts about the first draft of this chapter were extremely helpful and helped make it several hundred words longer!_

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Despite not being by nature an early morning person, Tom resolves that he would have no argument with being woken at 5.30 every day if it meant being greeted by the sight of Sybil Crawley in her pyjamas. On opening his eyes, his initial view is of her long, silky tresses of hair swinging forward as she sets down a steaming mug on the small table beside the sofa.

"I've brought you a coffee…" she says shyly "…I wasn't sure if you drink tea first thing in the morning."

"Either's fine" he assures, struggling into a sitting position and smiling with gratitude. She hovers uncertainly for a moment, tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear and clasps her hands together awkwardly as she observes him.

"Have you made yourself one?" he asks and she tips her head towards the kitchen doorway by way of assent. "You can sit down if you like, I won't bite. Did you manage to get some sleep?" She nods, then walks away, returning seconds later with her own mug of tea and perches self-consciously on the edge of the folded out bed.

"Eventually, I tossed and turned for a while, how about you?"

"Much the same" he concedes and tries to curtail his smoker's chesty cough as she cautiously sips her drink, glancing at him before hastily looking away. He takes in her self-described 'wild and unruly hair', the red and white striped cotton pyjamas and those full, ruby red lips and with an amused internal smile wonders if there could be any finer sight. Possibly, he reflects brazenly, Sybil Crawley without her pyjamas and he frowns suddenly in order to disguise the impudent grin which is threatening to betray this line of thought, while he adjusts the duvet over his lap so that she is in no danger of noticing the physical effect of such reflection.

They chat politely for a few minutes and she begins to relax under their informal circumstances, before announcing her intention to shower and get ready for the arrival of the police within the hour. It takes him approximately ten minutes to get ready, although in all honesty he can do it in two if pressed for time, however Sybil spends what seems like ages in the bathroom and then subsequently in the confines of her bedroom, carefully applying make-up and attempting to straighten her hair so that it better matches Emma's usual style. He finds even such a minor transformation rather startling; the very concept of her imitating his sister makes him feel unexpectedly uncomfortable and quashes the amorous thoughts with which he had earlier flirted.

Only Dawn Pulliver and one uniformed officer, a man of serious appearance in his thirties named PC McPherson, enter the flat in preparation for the reconstruction. There's another constable stationed outside the main entrance in an attempt to curtail the exuberance of the press corps who have returned to their favoured spot on the pavement. Tom had taken a quick peek out of the window the previous evening and spotted the last departure shortly after 9pm, when any hope of Sybil's re-emergence that day had been abandoned. He checks again and sees the throng of reporters and photographers; there's an increased number today but that is to be expected with a reconstruction taking place. The broadsheets will have a presence as well as the tabloids and he hopes that today's focus will be on the investigation, rather than Sybil's family background. The devious looking character from yesterday has reappeared; he'd asked Tom as he passed why he was visiting Sybil and despite being in the same line of business, he'd been sorely tempted to wipe the insolent smile off his face with a swift punch.

"To discuss the development of the case with my sister's flatmate" he'd replied with an angry glare. "And you can quote me on that, pal." He hopes it has sufficed to eliminate any other suggestion for the time being and that his friendship with Sybil won't deflect from the importance of the case itself.

Dawn coaches Sybil on what to expect after she's changed into a grey Karen Millen suit, identical to the one Emma wore last week. She'll be officially followed by the three-fold police contingent, Tom and two camera crews, but they'll be several paces behind and she's to conduct the journey as if she is alone. There's no knowing how many journalists will attempt to keep up and join them on the tube journey, but they've been warned to keep their distance, so that Sybil can remain in commuters' line of sight. It's hoped that her image might trigger a new memory of Emma's own trip last Tuesday and that something significant may be recalled. There will be posters of Emma at both Kennington and Chancery Lane tube stations, as well as Tottenham Court Road where it is presumed she changed trains. Tom is going to assist in handing out leaflets to morning commuters as they travel. He's relieved to have an active role in the proceedings and hopes it will help to keep his mind focussed; evading the more disturbing images that leave him tormented as he considers the possibilities concerning Emma's disappearance.

Sybil seems calm and composed as they prepare to leave the flat and descend the stairs. She's been listening intently to Dawn's instructions and shows her only sign of fleeting agitation as they discuss the speed at which she should walk. She insists that Emma always strides swiftly in the mornings, explaining that she's accompanied her to the tube station from time to time, but Dawn wants her to follow a more languid pace in order to better attract the attention of passers-by. She agrees to comply and he's impressed by the way that she's unafraid to offer an opinion, even within an environment which is wholly unfamiliar and undoubtedly distressing. With a firm nod of her head, she indicates that she's ready to depart and gives a collective smile to those around her. He catches a glimpse of how adept she must be in her job; empathetic to patients' distress, yet poised and collected in the face of trying tasks and decisions. There had been no hesitation in agreeing to take part today and only her admission that she had found it hard to fall asleep last night betrays the emotion that she's certainly concealing. For a brief moment he feels gratified that regardless of the investigation's outcome, his sister has shared the last few months with someone so compassionate and accomplished, then dismisses the concept immediately, furious with himself that he has even considered the possibility of an unhappy resolution.

Following Sybil down the stairs, he reaches forward in an attempt to offer a supportive squeeze of her arm before they emerge before the press, but mistimes it and instead grasps the soft flesh under her thumb. Awkwardly he tries to adjust his position, but she twists her wrist and briefly holds his hand tightly in response, letting go as Dawn opens the communal front door.

"Can I remind you to keep at least five metres away from Miss Crawley!" Dawn calls out to the assembled throng and there's a general rumbling of consent in return.

"Alright?" she asks Sybil, placing a reassuring hand on her back and Sybil swallows quickly, smiles and provides an assertive nod. With a confident air, she begins to walk in the direction of Kennington tube station and Tom falls silently in line with Dawn and her colleagues, the reporters behind them and photographers crossing to the other side of the street in order to comply with their directive, yet to obtain a good shot. There's an eerie atmosphere and commuters and pedestrians stop in unison to stare at the procession as it makes its steady progress along the street. Rush hour vehicles, always progressing slowly at this time in the morning, come to almost an abrupt stop and Tom is able to pass leaflets through open windows to their startled occupants.

Sybil uses her own Oyster card to smoothly walk through the ticket barriers, a waiting London Transport inspector helpfully opens a gate to allow the police, Tom and the camera crews access, but the press are required to pay as usual. Tom can't help a wry smile of amusement as one reporter fails to find his own Oyster card and is separated from the group as he diverts to impatiently stand in a queue for an individual ticket. They follow down the escalator, pass along the platform and are able to board a northbound train within seconds. It's uncomfortably full, but Dawn uses her police authority to ask a number of disgruntled passengers to alight; their indignant air altering to one of hasty repentance when they learn of the motive behind their eviction.

Sybil sits down and Tom can't help but reflect that at this time in the morning, it's doubtful that Emma was able to obtain a seat from Kennington. In all likelihood she was squashed between fellow commuters, hanging grimly onto one of the straps above, but the carriage has fallen unnaturally silent and he doesn't voice his thoughts. Only the sound of clicking cameras is audible as he watches Sybil awkwardly sit, making eye contact with no one and casually flicking through the _'Metro'_ which PC McPherson handed her for additional authenticity. It's rare for Tom to be on the tube during rush-hour. Generally he attempts to avoid it, loathing the discomfort of having to invade the personal space of strangers who in turn attempt to travel in singular isolation. He's at an advantage in his job that he can often pick and choose when to arrange an interview or conduct some research and appreciates the restricted hours within which the court system operates. Emma doesn't seem to mind however. She'd told him in June that she enjoys the excitement of being part of the mass of movement that takes place each morning and evening throughout the city, that it makes her feel as if she belongs here. At the time he'd rolled his eyes as he swirled his pint before him and told her that she was mad if she enjoyed being intimately acquainted with a stranger's body odour first thing in the morning, but she'd just laughed. Now he's wondering if she's never felt as if she belongs elsewhere. She gives the impression of a vivacious, confident woman and certainly she's achieved strong academic qualifications and secured an impressive graduate role within her firm. Yet the knowledge that she's been seeing a therapist throughout her time in London weighs heavily on his mind. It seems unlikely that it was an impulsive decision when she first moved here and he can only surmise that she was previously visiting one back in Dublin. David Emerson's parting comment that Emma only wants to be loved has left an indelible imprint and he's spent a great deal of time over the last few days considering how isolated she must have felt within the fractures of their family. Regardless of the blood ties which bind her to him and Kieran, she's only hovered on the side lines of their family unit, flitting in and out in accordance with their mother's emotions until their brother severed the connection entirely. Yet she must feel like an outsider within the house in which she grew up; bound to their mother but disconnected from her husband and separated from Amy by both paternity and age.

He feels a familiar sense of shame at the way he's pushed his siblings aside over the years; an attempt to wipe out the anguish caused by his parents. In the process he's supressed relationships with the only people who might be able to relate to his suffering and potentially help him to find a more contented course beyond it. He reiterates his vow to redeem himself with Emma when she returns, to spend some time with his brother and to try and rectify things with Amy before it's too late and she rejects him in turn.

They change trains at Tottenham Court Road and crowds part hurriedly before them in an attempt to better observe the proceedings and to cast their eyes over the provided leaflets. Tom keeps his eyes firmly on Sybil ahead of him, but she doesn't hesitate or catch his eye, appearing poised and thoughtful. At Chancery Lane, they emerge into unexpected sunshine and Tom retrieves his sunglasses from his jacket. He sees Sybil squint and turn her face from the sun, then stop hesitantly before glancing back at Dawn Pulliver with a questioning expression.

"Turn right, keep walking. You're looking for Red Lion Street on your right, then turn right into Eagle Street." Sybil makes brief eye contact with Tom and he nods supportively, before she follows her instructions and their procession continues on its final leg of the journey. Away from the wall-to-wall traffic and noise of High Holborn, Eagle Street offers relative peace and sanctity and Dawn calls for Sybil to come to a halt only a few metres within.

"Somewhere along this street, Emma's mobile was turned off" she informs the assembled crowd. "We don't know why and we don't know exactly where, but at some point in this road, either she or somebody else made the decision that she could not be traced further." A solemn atmosphere engulfs her audience and Tom looks around him. There are signs of activity; the occasional vehicle and pedestrian passing by, two workmen standing by a skip outside one of the terraced buildings which align the road. Yet there's stillness in the air and he can hear bird song, which two streets away would be unimaginable. A sensation of tranquillity briefly swathes him and he is unaware that he's holding his breath until there's a distant crash as a heavy item is thrown into the skip and he is returned to reality. The moment has passed and commotions of working life resume. It occurs to him that if you time it appropriately, you could bundle somebody into the back of a van without being observed and he shudders at the thought. There is no firm suggestion that it was the case, yet he cannot help but think it the most likely scenario. Nothing that he has learned to date suggests that Emma chose to go missing voluntarily and he cannot believe that she would happily step inside the vehicle of someone with whom she isn't acquainted. A sense of nausea overwhelms him as he once again considers the possibilities concerning Emma's current whereabouts and feeling lightheaded, he leans back to clasp a railing for balance.

The press have taken their final shots of Sybil and begin to move away; cameras are placed in protective cases and there is talk of taking breakfast in a nearby café. This is an ordinary working day for the assembled journalists and camera operators; a less common situation than usual, but their lives continue in relative normality, there is no emotional fall-out from the morning's sequence of events. He hears an audible exhale of relief from Sybil as her shoulders slump and she steps towards him, while Dawn congratulates her on a flawless performance.

"We're going to take a taxi back to Kennington, can we drop you both back?" she asks with a friendly smile. Sybil turns swiftly to Tom.

"Are you going straight home now?"

He offers a half-apologetic smile as he explains. "I've left my overnight bag in your flat" and is gratified to note the subsequent look of satisfaction on her face.

They sit in relative silence during the journey back to South London, with only polite exchanges regarding what has taken place. Dawn assures Tom that she will keep him informed of any developments that might result from their investigations following the press conference and today's proceedings.

"Shall I come and see you tomorrow?" he asks, but she shakes her head.

"Unless something particularly significant comes up, I think I can just update you over the phone." He feels oddly disappointed, although her answer makes perfect sense. There's a feeling of relative futility to his day while he isn't working and visiting the police station provides him with an ideal excuse to call in and visit Sybil. While he's anxious not to intrude too frequently on her daily life, she has asked to be kept involved and regardless of any physical attraction to her, he'd like to think that she considers them to be friends. It's certainly an unusual relationship and they've been brought together under very unorthodox circumstances, but it's a friendship that he already values and hopes will remain in some form after the case is satisfactorily resolved.

Back in the sanctity of her flat, Sybil switches on the kettle and occupies herself with preparing hot drinks. It feels as if he has been up for hours and he tries to ignore pressing thoughts of the small bottles of beer remaining in her fridge. It's not long after 10am and while he has no such hesitation at home if he feels so inclined, is determined not to present such a poor impression, especially after his unexpected admission the previous evening. She stands with her back towards him, stirring his coffee with such pre-occupation that he is almost reluctant to interrupt her reverie.

"Are you OK?" he eventually asks and she stops instantly, turning slowly around so that he can see the shadows under her eyes and now pale demeanour. He doesn't repeat his question, but simply tips his head to one side in order to re-emphasise his concern and with alarm he watches sudden tears spring into her eyes.

"Standing in Eagle Street…" she says softly "…I was so shocked at how quiet it was."

"I know. Considering it's central London, but there are so many side streets like that, aren't there? You know, just round the corner from all the activity."

"What was she doing there? I mean, why would she need to go that way? That wouldn't be her normal route to work, I'm sure."

He sighs deeply and leans back on her fridge. "I just don't have a clue" he admits. "But you'd have more chance of abducting someone there than you would on High Holborn." There is no intention on his behalf to deliberately cause additional distress, he's simply voicing his anguished thoughts aloud, but he's taken by surprise when he sees her body begin to shake. Her head is bowed and she's clearly attempting to recompose herself, but she emits two loud sobs and lifts her right hand in order to cover her mouth. His own internal suffering is immediately disregarded and without hesitation, he moves forward and puts his arms around her. For a moment he wonders if this instinctive reaction has been appropriate; the comfort he's attempting to provide appears to have unleashed only additional sorrow and she's crying quite consistently now, her hands bunched up against his chest, as he wordlessly hugs her tight. She rests her forehead against him and he can smell her shampoo, a concoction of exotic fruits and coconut, while he thinks about how unpleasant his own contrasting odour of stale smoke must seem. Gently, he rubs a palm up and down her back, trying to provide some form of solace for the emotional upheaval she has experienced this morning. They stand immobile for several minutes, until her tears subside and he feels her begin to wriggle from within his grasp. He's about to let her go when she manoeuvres a fist in order to rub her eyes and then looks up from within his embrace.

"I'm sorry…that's not at all helpful, is it?" He smiles down at her, shaking his head.

"Don't worry about it. If it helps you feel a bit better, then that's a good thing." She doesn't move from his grasp, their eyes are locked and for the briefest of moments he considers how comforting it would be to bend his neck and kiss her. If this was a movie, it would undoubtedly happen and at this precise moment in time, he has a feeling that she wouldn't object to such an advance. However, it's not a fictional scenario and they have to live with the consequences throughout their shared ordeal, so reluctantly he lets her go. He values her friendship and support so greatly that he can't contemplate the potentially emotive fall out of exploiting the situation for his own advantage and doesn't believe that she would benefit in any way from such a move. She reaches for a piece of kitchen towel on the window sill and blows her nose loudly, throwing the paper in the bin and giving an audible sigh as she regains composure. He remains rooted to the spot watching her and she smiles in gratitude for his silent support.

"Thank you" she whispers and stretches her arms comfortably around his waist. He's taken by surprise, but it's not unwelcome and once again he envelopes her in a gentle hug. She turns her head so that her cheek rests against his breastbone and they remain thus in companionable silence as the morning sun passes slowly behind a cloud and the first sensation of an autumn chill makes its unwelcome arrival.


	9. Chapter 9

"So how are you bearing up, Syb?" Gwen's voice is etched with concern and Sybil's heart aches a little for the absence of her closest friend while living under such challenging circumstances.

"I'm OK" she replies with hesitance and when there's silence at the other end of the phone, repeats herself in a more determined manner. "Honestly. I'm here, I'm safe, I don't have any reason to complain."

"Apart from the fact that your flatmate has been missing for two weeks and the police are no closer to discovering why."

"Well yes, excluding that, of course. I'm beginning to fall into a slight routine of normality now, which in itself feels worrying. I mean, I just thought she'd be home or found or that we would at least know something by now and there comes a point at which you have to just carry on around the gaping hole of uncertainty. We're reliant on the police giving us information and apart from minor snippets of discovery; there just isn't much to give."

"Only this one possible sighting?" Gwen prompts, hoping that Sybil will be able to provide more information than she's been able to learn from reading the Irish press. Her friend's shift patterns have meant that they've only exchanged emails and texts over the last few days and she'd like to learn more about the only concrete discovery that has been made as a result of the reconstruction which took place last week.

"Yes" Sybil confirms with a hint of melancholy in her tone. At times she wonders if more questions than answers have ensued from this small element of news, which has led to additionally sinister thoughts occupying her mind during periods of inactivity. "This woman is sure that it was Emma that she saw in Eagle Street that morning, but she can't be certain of anything about the man she was talking to; only that it sounded like a heated discussion."

"The papers over here are saying that he was Irish too."

"She's retracted that now…" Sybil replies with a sigh "…says she can't be sure. She knows she heard an Irish accent, but it might only have been Emma's. All she's said is that he was aged somewhere between 20 and 35 and had brown hair, so that narrows it down to about 15% of the male population."

"I guess I don't take much notice of people as I walk past them; not so that I could later describe them anyway" admitted Gwen.

"Well exactly. She said that she only remembers Emma because she's got the same Karen Millen suit and recognised it."

"And she didn't hear any of the conversation, at all?"

"She reckons Emma said '_I don't think so'_ as she passed, which again could mean anything. Then she also says that there was a white van parked nearby, but the police have been speaking to all the people who work in that street and they've confirmed that there are often white vans parked along there during the day, so it doesn't necessarily mean that he had come out of it."

"And the phone calls?"

"Again, no real answers. She was regularly texting to a Pay As You Go mobile in Hong Kong, which Emma had stored in her phone as _TJ_. Nobody knows who that is, but some of the texts were quite flirtatious. There are two people with those initials in the Hong Kong office of your firm, but they both deny knowing her. There's also a UK mobile number which hasn't been traced, which she's got down as _Just _-whatever that means! The police are contacting everyone else she has stored, but so far it's all just friends, family and colleagues."

"Yeah, the police talked to me, because she and I used to text occasionally, you know about work stuff?" The pitch of Gwen's voice alters as she concludes her sentence and Sybil can perceive a note of anxiety and regret.

"It must be very odd for you too…" she suggests cautiously "…being in Emma's old role?"

Gwen clears her throat and hesitates for a moment. "It's fucking awful actually, I feel as if I shouldn't be here and everybody wishes I wasn't."

"Oh Gwen, I'm sure that's not true…"

"It is! Suddenly everyone appears to be Emma's greatest fan and I'm not saying that they weren't beforehand, but they were certainly slow out of the starting blocks with all their lavish praise."

"Well, when you know that something might have happened to somebody, then you do suddenly reflect on them more than you might do otherwise…" Sybil speaks cautiously, knowing that Gwen's firm sense of injustice and impulsive manner might cause additional anguish if she speaks out of turn. "…I certainly have. I find myself wishing that I'd told her what a lovely flatmate she's been, when if I had actually done that at the time, she'd have probably thought I was a bit peculiar. We just don't tell people, on the whole, how we feel about them until it's possibly too late."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Anyway, I'm just trying to keep my head down as much as I can. It's partly my own fault anyway…"

"Don't say that!"

"No it is, I stupidly referred to Emma in the past tense during a meeting, by which I meant she worked here in the past, but it's upset people and I'm bearing the brunt. It's a good thing I'm sharing a flat with people who don't work here and Joe's been great."

"So it's all still going well then?" Sybil smiles, pleased to move on to a happier topic.

"Yeah, it is. Who knows what will happen, but I really like him and he seems to still like me, so you know…we'll see."

"I'm glad."

"So, is Emma's brother still keeping you up to date and involved with everything?" Gwen's tone remains light, but Sybil narrows her eyes, wondering where the conversation is now leading.

"Yes, he phones me every day to tell me about his daily discussion with the police."

"But you haven't met up with him recently?"

"Um, yes I had coffee with him up in town after my early shift yesterday. Just for an hour…well, maybe two actually. That's the only time since the reconstruction though. I'm sure he'll call in if he needs to visit Kennington police station."

"Having seen his photograph plastered all over the papers, would it be very inappropriate for me to ask if you find him quite attractive?"

"Yes"

"Was that your answer to the first half of my question, or the second?"

Sybil pauses only momentarily before she provides her honest reply. "Both"

ooOoo

As she travels on the tube later in the week, Sybil becomes aware of the occasional passenger giving her a second glance and wonders if she is being paranoid or whether now and again, people are recognising her. There has been another accompanying article about her family in one of the Sunday supplements at the weekend and somehow they've managed to obtain a copy of her staff photograph from the hospital. It's only a small and grainy reproduction, but her likeness is obvious. The hospital management team are incensed and she has been aware of hurriedly arranged security meetings taking place within the last couple of days. No stranger has approached her to date though; unlike Tom who is frequently provided with unsolicited advice or opinions by complete strangers who feel obliged to offer a contribution towards the case when they recognise him. She is aware, all of a sudden, that she's smiling as she thinks about him and hurriedly presents a composed and more serious expression. They're meeting up for lunch later; he'd phoned her as usual last night and after providing her with the daily police update, which once again had amounted to very little, she'd casually asked if he was planning to visit the station in the near future.

"I don't think they want me hanging around, really." he'd admitted. "That's why I haven't been round to see you. I guess I'd rather Dawn was using her time to try and solve the case rather than entertain me. So unless there's something they want me to look at…"

She'd felt ludicrously awkward about asking her next question, which she doesn't really understand as by and large she believes herself to be relatively self-possessed and confident, but she is anxious not to intrude too greatly on his time, or indeed be considered in any way a nuisance.

"Well if you ever want a chance to talk things over in person, just let me know. We could always meet up in town sometime. Only if you want to…"

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he'd asked in swift response and as she has her day off, they have made plans to meet in a restaurant close to Covent Garden, which Sybil knows and recommends. She's looking forward to seeing him; aside from their relatively short coffee engagement earlier this week, they haven't spent any time in one another's company since the reconstruction. After the intensity of the few days following Emma's disappearance, she came to rely on his presence on a daily basis and misses him. She appreciates his regular telephone updates, but often wishes they could be made in person. However, he lives on the other side of the capital and she understands that it's not convenient to simply call round frequently without any other purpose. It has crossed her mind that she could travel to visit him in Kentish Town, but without the intention of a police station visit, she wonders if such a journey would appear misplaced. They have made a firm connection and she believes that it stretches further than a shared concern about Emma's welfare and a desire to unravel the truth. Gwen had known better than to continue her line of questioning the other evening, but dwelling on her admission makes Sybil feel ill at ease. Considering the circumstances which have brought them into contact with one another, it seems improper for their friendship to be anything but platonic, yet she can't help but feel drawn to Tom and occasionally allows her imagination to lead further away from their companionable encounters. She's aware that he also finds her attractive; has spotted the way he watches her occasionally when he believes that her attention is diverted elsewhere. Yet she understands that he is able to be objective in his admiration and that he is unlikely to want anything to distract from the purpose of finding Emma at this point in time. Under alternative conditions, she can't help but wonder if their relationship would develop differently and the concept is not unwelcome. However it is also possible that they would never have become reacquainted and the only positive outcome from the last distressing seventeen days is that she has made a new and hopefully long lasting friendship. After all, he had expressed little interest in Emma's life up until this point, a fact that she understands he is now regretting and struggling to justify, and at his only previous visit to the flat, he had not made a favourable impression. Nonetheless, at the moment he is the only person with whom she feels entirely comfortable; able to explain her anxieties and the bewildering circumstances under which she is currently living. After the reconstruction and her subsequent emotional outburst, she had felt awkward and wondered if he was embarrassed by their unprecedented embrace. It had undoubtedly provided her with a feeling of solace and he certainly displayed no evidence of discomfort after she finally extracted herself from his arms. However, nor has there been any ensuing tactile behaviour between them and she reminds herself not to read more into the situation than a comforting and supportive gesture. She checks her watch and notes with satisfaction that within less than two hours, she will see him again.

Firstly, however, she has another important appointment; she's arranged to meet Emma's colleague Nicole in a sandwich bar close to Chancery Lane tube station. The police have formally interviewed her already, but Sybil is feeling rather redundant after her verbal offer to assist Tom in the investigation and feels that this might be an opportunity to redeem her heartfelt and genuine intentions. Although she has never previously met Nicole, hers is the only name frequently mentioned by Emma during her tenure and she hopes that the two women may have confided in one another, or at least that Emma might have offered additional hints as to where she spent her missing weekends.

Sybil hesitates in the entrance of _Pret A Manger_ for only a couple of seconds before a hand is raised from a nearby table and she walks swiftly over to make her introduction.

"I recognised you from the newspaper" Nicole admits, standing up and shaking her hand. She's probably a year or two older than Sybil, dressed in what seems like the corporate uniform of the firm – dark trouser suit, white shirt and only minimal silver jewellery adorning her ears and neck. Sybil notes a tasteful engagement ring and admires her immaculate blonde bob. It might make her indistinguishable from thousands of other young women in the city, but Sybil is envious of anyone who can mould their hair into a definable style and doesn't have to rely on tying it up to attain any form of control.

"Yes, well I suppose it's better than one of us having to hold a red rose" she replies with a smile, hoping to break the ice and reduce Nicole's visible anxiety.

"I bought you a coffee. I know you said you were going on to eat lunch elsewhere."

"That's very kind, thank you. Yes I'm meeting a friend at two." Sybil smiles in order to try to disguise her dismay at having to consume a drink she dislikes. She wants to gain Nicole's trust and rejecting such a thoughtful gesture wouldn't help with this strategy.

"As you know, I've told the police everything I could." Emma's colleague commences in a nervous tone and Sybil nods reassuringly, sipping her drink and ensuring that she doesn't wince as its bitter taste hits the back of her tongue.

"Of course, I'm not expecting you to be able to tell me anything that's going to give me a clue as to what's ultimately happened, but there are a few discrepancies with things she told me and I just wondered if you could help me shed any light on them, that's all." Nicole raises her eyebrows in response and Sybil hurriedly continues. "None of which probably have any bearing on the investigation, but you never know. It's worth a try, don't you think?"

"Of course, I'd like to help in any way. Is this anything to do with her brother by any chance?" Sybil is startled by the question and finds herself inexplicably overheating; feeling her cheeks beginning to flush and her body to marginally sweat.

"Um, no. Why has he asked to speak to you as well?" There's a stutter to her voice, which she hurriedly attempts to correct, but she's momentarily thrown by the concept of Tom pursuing the same line of enquiry without mentioning it to her first. She's told him who she is meeting today and instinctively presumes that he would extend her the same level of courtesy. Nicole looks puzzled and shakes her head.

"No, why would he?" Suddenly her face flashes with clarification. "Oh, you mean the journalist brother? No, no I haven't spoken to him, although there have been plenty of other journalists hanging around our building trying to get us all to talk about her. I meant the other one. You know, the press are going on about him being estranged from the rest of the family, that's weird don't you think? I mean, Emma mentioned having a brother in Liverpool, but there was never any hint that they didn't get on. Do you know what it's all about?"

Sybil can't help but feel relieved as she shakes her head. "No I don't, but I don't believe that it's anything to do with Emma herself. I think there was a falling out with their mother and he's cut himself off from them all. He has some contact with Tom…that's the journalist who I'm trying to help, but nobody else in the family. I don't know the exact circumstances though."

"So do you think Emma was embarrassed about it and that's why she pretended that she was still close to him?"

Sybil thinks hard before answering. She wants to be truthful, but additionally feels a sense of loyalty towards both Emma and Tom and doesn't want to betray any information with which the press are not yet acquainted. "I think she was probably sad about the entire situation. She was only here in London for a year and nobody knew her, so she could pretend that they had a seamless relationship and nobody was likely to learn otherwise." She pauses again. "I don't believe she was trying to deceive us all; just presenting an image which she wished was true. Do you agree, or have you seen a different side to her?"

"Not at all!" replies Nicole in haste. "She's a great girl. Super bright and she brought in some good ideas. I've really enjoyed working with her."

"And did you socialise with her much?" Sybil presses. "She mentioned your name a bit, so I always got the impression that you saw each other outside of work now and again?"

"Yes on a Friday mostly. There's usually a gang of people who go out straight from the office. Some just for one drink, others for the whole evening. She quite often came out."

"And did you ever see her on a Saturday or Sunday?"

Nicole shakes her head. "Apart from when the whole team went up to Kenwood House for an outdoor concert, that was on a Saturday in July."

"Oh yes, she talked about that. Jools Holland wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was great. But no, we didn't tend to socialise much over the weekend." Nicole raises her left hand. "I tend to do stuff with my fiancé at weekends, or go back to my parents, you know?"

"Did Emma ever mention anything about a man she might be interested in, do you know?"

"No" Nicole looks suddenly hesitant and Sybil leans forward with interest.

"Go on…anything, just tell me."

"She never mentioned anyone, but I did suspect that there might be someone, although she denied it when I once asked her."

"What gave you that impression?"

"It was only that…well, sometimes her eyes really lit up when she got a text and she'd be smiling when she replied. And a couple of times when she got one, she'd suddenly grab her phone and rush outside, presumably to ring whoever it was. I did ask her who she was so desperate to speak to…you know, just in a jokey way, but she said it was her Mum."

"Right"

"But it wasn't the kind of expression you have on your face when your Mum sends you a text if you know what I mean?"

"I do."

"So is that any help?" Nicole looks so hopeful in anticipation of a favourable response that Sybil can't help but smile.

"It is actually. It kind of substantiates what we already thought."

"Which is what?"

"Well Tom and I are speculating…" she hesitates for a moment and instinctively smiles in appreciation of how easily that sentence rolls off her tongue. "…that she might have been having an affair with someone she didn't want anyone to know about; possibly married or at least otherwise spoken for."

"Right, but you never met anyone?"

"No, but she went away a lot at weekends."

"And you don't know where?"

"Some of them I do." Sybil doesn't want to reveal any more information and wonders if she should have even mentioned her unsubstantiated theory. Dawn Pulliver has warned both her and Tom to be wary of providing others with specific details about Emma's life. It only takes one indiscretion for a sensationalised article to be published in the newspapers and they need to take Emma's feelings into consideration. A potential affair may turn out to be irrelevant to the case and both parties would want to retain their privacy in the event of her ultimate return. "I didn't tell her everything about my life so nor would I expect her to share everything with me." Sybil's conclusion appears to satisfy Nicole and the two part on good terms, Sybil having managed to digest two thirds of her cup of coffee and the latter promising to be in contact if she remembers anything else which might provide more insight into Emma's personal circumstances.

She permits herself a leisurely stroll to Covent Garden. It only takes fifteen minutes and she has half an hour, so begins to peruse shop windows until she realises that almost without exception, they contain a poster of Emma. Tom and the police handed many out on the day of the reconstruction, but she remembers that he has subsequently returned; asking staff in every shop within the vicinity if they will display her image. It's a haunting sight; as she turns around and stares across the slowly moving traffic on High Holborn, she can see an A4 sized sheet of paper exhibited on each large pane of glass beside the pavement opposite. It's the casual photograph taken at Camden Market, blown larger to show her head and shoulders only; Emma's happy expression beaming at her unremittingly along the road.

"Where are you?" Sybil mutters as pedestrians swerve to avoid her sudden halt. Yet Emma simply grins in response and she can only guess at the secrets hidden behind such a positive façade.

Her sombre mood improves when she spots Tom already seated in the restaurant and he rises to greet her with a kiss to the cheek and an enthusiastic smile. He's ordered a beer and nods appreciatively at the menu by its side.

"It looks very nice. Another friend of mine has mentioned this place before, but I've never been."

"It's lovely" she replies, shrugging off her jacket and placing it on the back of her chair. "Good, simple food that's delicious and not too expensive. What's not to like? Why are you grinning at me like that?"

"Am I?" he immediately adjusts to a sterner expression while awkwardly picking up the menu once again. "So, did Nicole have anything interesting to say?" She fills him in on their conversation and he remains silent, simply nodding or raising his eyebrows during her explanation.

"As we thought then." he concludes "I reckon he's got that Pay As You Go mobile that they can't trace. He's taking her calls on a phone that his wife doesn't know about."

"Probably, but it doesn't mean that he's got anything to do with her disappearance though."

"I know, but why hasn't he come forward to eliminate himself? He must have seen Emma's story on the news or in a paper."

"Because he doesn't want his wife to find out, I should think" Sybil adds and watches him scowl at the image.

"Selfish bastard" He picks up a fork, stabbing it almost absent-mindedly into the tablecloth while he once again reads the menu. She makes her own selection and watches him, his eyebrows furrowed as he scans the choices.

"Are you trying to memorise it?" she jokes after minutes have passed and he looks momentarily perplexed before relaxing into a less formidable expression.

"Sorry, I was just thinking. I'm not actually really taking it in. Let's see if they can do a decent steak and chips then."

"They can" she assures and he smiles at her while she ignores the resulting peculiar sensation from within her stomach muscles.

"It's nice to be out, to be honest" he declares, leaning back in his chair after giving the cheerful waiter his meal order and waiting for Sybil to do the same. "I mean, I know we met for coffee, but I haven't been out for a meal since…"

"Me neither…" she interrupts hastily "…I've only eaten at work, home or my friend Anna's house. Have you not seen any of your friends at all?"

"I've been out for a pint with a mate a couple of times, but like you I'm not really in the mood for socialising at the moment. I'm just staying in mostly."

She nods in comprehension and he looks down at the table for a short while, before clearing his throat and meeting her gaze.

"I've decided not to drink when I'm on my own." he says, breaking eye contact once again. "I just thought I'd tell you as I burdened you with my thoughts and anxieties the other week."

"You didn't burden me at all." Sybil replies firmly "I feel honoured that you chose to talk to me about it." He shrugs and she ensures that she isn't the first to break eye contact. "I'm sure you'll find some kind of equilibrium."

"That's right!" he nods enthusiastically; clearly she has struck the correct tone. "I want to find a happy medium. With my Da it was either total abstinence or the whole bottle…and then probably another one to follow. I can't face either if I'm honest. I'd like to be able to enjoy a drink or two, but not go overboard all the time with it. Drinking alone seems often to be my route towards dissatisfaction, so we'll see if stopping helps me turn a corner."

"It seems like a good plan to me" Sybil says, hoping that she is offering encouragement without appearing patronising. She's seen examples of liver damage first hand and knows it often begins many years before the full effects are realised. However she's also counselled alcoholics who regularly appear in A&E and is certain that recovery is only likely to be successful when clear of judgement by those who can offer support.

"So on that note, do you want any wine?" he asks and offers a wry smile, at which she can't help but lightly laugh.

"Um…maybe just a glass? I can't cope with lunchtime drinking."

"Perfect. I'll have one too and will try to sip it elegantly like you, instead of necking it down my throat as normal." He winks at her and she responds with a grin; pleased to see him dealing with his demons so positively and in good humour, despite the shadow of his sister's disappearance weighing over the occasion.

They're eating their meal, which is meeting both of their high expectations, when he clears his throat suddenly and places his hands on the table either side of his plate. With alarm she stops eating, even ceasing to chew her current mouthful while waiting for him to offer an explanation.

"I was going to wait until after we'd eaten to tell you this, but I need to get your opinion." He seems defiant with this declaration and Sybil's mind is almost spinning with the possibilities that might ensue.

"I spoke to Dawn again this morning…" he explains "…and there's been another potential sighting."

Sybil's heartbeat slows marginally; they were warned that this would happen. Once an image is distributed, it is common for people to claim that they may have seen that person somewhere. The police are obliged to investigate each report and very occasionally, a missing person is located in this way. However, the success rate is exceedingly low, less than half a per cent and most are wild goose chases, instigated by either the well-meaning or those who wish to revel in the family's misery by raising false hope. The Metropolitan Police don't have the resources to personally chase every lead, but forces around the country and indeed throughout the world are well versed in the procedure to assist. To date there have been reports that Emma may be in New Zealand, Florida, Thailand, Norway, Germany, Peru, Ibiza, Morocco, Edinburgh, North Devon, Telford, Wrexham and at Clackett Lane Services on the M25. None have produced any concrete evidence of her existence and Sybil feels impervious to the prospect of another possibility.

"It's in Stuttgart again…" he continues "…two potential sightings in ten days. I just think that maybe there's something in this one."

"Where was she?" Sybil asks with a frown.

"In a café this time, last week it was a shop. Both in the centre of the city; it can't be a co-incidence."

"But it doesn't necessarily mean that it's her." Sybil doesn't intend to respond in such a negative manner, but she's anxious not to raise her own hopes and is concerned that Tom's inactivity at home is leading him to magnify very marginal prospects.

"No, I know that, but it's the location. Stuttgart! She did her year out in Tübingen, that's only down the road."

"Is it?" Sybil's geography of Germany is weak, she's only ever visited Berlin and although she was aware that Emma had studied German as part of her business degree, had never really taken notice of the area in which she had been based.

"Well it's about 40 kilometres, that's around 25 miles; it's not far. What I mean is that she knows that area. She speaks pretty good German, she could make a life there if she wanted to."

"It's not exactly hidden from the world though, is it?"

"No, but it's not Dublin and it's not London. " He sighs and drums his fingers on the table before continuing. "Just hear me out. What if she just needed to get away? We don't know why, but maybe there was some reason why life here or in Dublin was unbearable, or no longer possible. What if she wasn't trying to disappear for ever, but that she just needed a fresh start…"

"…she's just had a fresh start here in London!" Sybil interrupts, but he raises his hand to halt any continuation of that thought.

"Maybe there's something else that's happened since she's been here. Look, I don't know, I'm only speculating here. But if she wanted to lie low somewhere for a while, for whatever reason, then I think Germany would be a real possibility for her. She might know someone out there still; I know she was just a student at the university, but she might have got to know a local…maybe he's the married man?"

"Well there's no evidence of her phoning Germany and anyway, it's quite a while since she was there. I mean she graduated over two years ago, so it must be at least three."

Suddenly Tom's manner alters and his frustration is clear. "Could you just try and work with me on this for one minute and not simply dismiss everything I'm saying?" he snaps and she feels herself flushing at the admonishment.

"I'm sorry" she replies politely, torn between remorse and indignation. She lowers her line of vision towards her meal while attempting to regain composure but when she glances back up at him again, he's clearly uncomfortable and wants to make amends.

"No, I'm sorry. Really. I shouldn't have said that. You've been so supportive from the beginning and I've got no right to jump down your throat."

"Well you were correct, I wasn't being very open to your suggestion."

For a moment they appear to be at stalemate. Sybil can't see the benefit of continued mutual apologies but while she's considering her next contribution, he takes her by surprise and leans forward to place his hand over hers. Her eyes are instinctively drawn to it; his palm dwarfs hers and she's struck by the contrast of his muscular and tanned frame over her pale and unblemished skin. There's a brief squeeze before he retracts it and leans back in his chair. Whether the act signified regret, apology or affection she is uncertain, but she'd like to imagine that it contained an element of all three. The expression on his face indicates self-doubt and she smiles in an attempt to reverse it. He visibly relaxes and there is symmetry in their friendship once again.

"So what did Dawn suggest they were going to do?" she asks, deflecting her earlier pessimism and watching his eyes light up again at the line of enquiry.

"Not a lot to be honest. You know, just the usual. '_We'll talk to the German police and ask them to make enquiries on our behalf_.' They didn't seem to try very hard with the last sighting if you ask me. I know they expect it to be false, but I pointed out the evidence of Emma's study there and she still didn't seem to be particularly inspired."

"That's frustrating."

"It's more than frustrating; it's infuriating. So I'm sick of waiting for them to pussyfoot around, I'm going to go out there."

"Really?" Sybil is momentarily astonished by this declaration, yet within seconds it seems a very palpable decision; one that is so blindingly obvious, she is surprised he has upheld their lunch appointment today.

"My Editor's not letting me back to work for at least another week. I can't sit around any longer just waiting for the police to work through their bureaucracy, when I could be getting out and trying to find things out for myself."

"I think it's an excellent idea. So when are you going?"

"Monday I think." He nods in satisfaction at her endorsement. "I'm going to book a flight later today. Weekends are likely to be less productive or I'd go tomorrow. But I can put together some flyers in German and get them printed off in the meantime."

"And how long will you stay?"

He raises his shoulders and his face displays uncertainty. "Not sure, what do you think? How long will it take me to pound the streets of central Stuttgart, do you think? A couple of days? Enough to make me feel that I've given it a good try at least."

Sybil gathers her thoughts as she watches him and slowly nods. Her mind is racing with the logistics of her proposal and she doesn't want to offer it lightly, without considering every aspect. Offering only a hint of unease, she bites her lower lip while tipping her head gradually sideways and meeting his eye.

"Two of us could do it in a couple of days, definitely."

His expression clouds with confusion, before it alters to one of realisation and surprise. "Really? Honestly, you don't need to offer, it's very kind of you but I'm happy to go out there on my own."

"I want to help" she says determinedly. "I said that from the beginning, but apart from the reconstruction, meeting Nicole earlier and generally lending a supportive ear on the phone, I haven't really done anything pro-active to help. I'm off on Tuesday anyway, but I'll take Monday as annual leave."

"Will you be able to at such short notice?"

"Under the current circumstances, I don't think it'll be a problem. They've offered me compassionate leave anyway, which I've turned down, so I don't think they would provide any resistance."

His face has remained impassive during this clarification and she is beginning to wonder if her attempt at co-operation is unwelcome. Suddenly however, he presents a broad smile that offers no doubt as to his appreciation and she is relieved that she has an opportunity to present an example of constructive solidarity.

"Thank you" His eyes hold her gaze and once again she feels mesmerised by their clarity. There's a fleeting glimpse of something which indicates more than gratitude in his expression, but he corrects it immediately before offering another smile and retrieving his knife and fork.

"You're a star" he says, tucking back into his meal with renewed enthusiasm. "Eat up then and we'll go and book the flights and hotel."

And with their mutual agreement in place, the plans are in motion.


	10. Chapter 10

_**In addition to thanking you all once again for reading and reviewing (you have no idea how much they make my day), I would also like to express my appreciation to MMT-VB for once again kindly agreeing to beta this chapter, to elleisforlovee who recently recommended this fic on her tumblr page and to dustedoffanoldie who asked me if she could produce a manip for the story (and taught me a new word in the process!). She said that she imagined Tom being stubbly and wearing glasses, so the brief mention of his short-sightedness in this chapter is for her!**_

* * *

Sybil can hear the astonishment in Mary's voice on hearing about the impulsive decision to accompany Tom to Stuttgart and with resignation listens to the line of questionning about her motives behind such a choice.

"Darling, you hardly know him!" Mary exclaims when Sybil becomes irritable and defensive at such an inquisition.

"I've spent a lot of time with him since Emma disappeared and anyway, what does it matter? If I can be of practical help - another pair of hands to distribute leaflets, a second person to talk to people, then that's all that's important."

"I just feel that it's a lot to ask of you, regardless of the circumstances, that's all."

"He didn't ask me!" reiterates Sybil with more than a hint of frustration. "I offered!" She doesn't need to be in her sister's presence in order to visualise her lips narrowing and an eyebrow arching and not for the first time, speculates at how Mary can be so wholly cautious in every aspect of her life.

"Well I hope he's not taking advantage of your generous nature in any way." Mary continues and Sybil can't help but smile at her choice of words.

"Funnily enough, he accused somebody else of doing the same thing recently. I really don't think you need to worry, Mary. We both have Emma's welfare as our priority; we're on the same side."

"I do feel that it ought to be somebody else in his family who's helping him though, rather than her flatmate who didn't really know her all that well."

"There isn't anyone else." Sybil replies with a touch of sadness. "His brother doesn't really know Emma, his father's dead, his mother's got a bad hip and won't travel…" her voice tails off as the reality of Tom's isolation in this case is made clear.

"They sound quite dysfunctional." her sister adds and Sybil gives a little sigh.

"I don't know the details to be honest. But there's been a lot of unhappiness in their family. Maybe Emma's safe recovery might bring them all back together again."

"Well I trust that he's booked two rooms in the hotel." The tone of Mary's question leads her sister to roll her eyes with exasperation.

"I was with him when he made the reservation and yes, he did. But I'm afraid that we might be sitting next to one another on the plane; does that worry you or would you like him to take an HIV test before we fly?"

"I really wish I'd never told you about that."

"Your third date, Mary! Talk about a conversation killer. Poor Matthew."

"Poor Matthew indeed!" Mary snorts with mock indignation and Sybil can detect a softening approach at the mention of her fiancé's name. "He couldn't get down to the hospital fast enough once he realised it was going to lead to taking me to bed. It may have killed the conversation at the time but it livened everything else up marvellously. I recommend it, Sybil."

"Yes well I'm not going to bed with Tom, am I? So I think I'll pass on that particular topic."

"Are you sure?"

Sybil can feel herself blushing furiously and is certain that her subsequent faltering response is due only to the fact that her sister has surprised her with such a prolonged interrogation.

"Of…of course! I mean, we're going to look for Emma, it's not about him and me! Honestly, Mary, haven't you ever stayed in the same hotel as a male colleague before? It's really no different from that!"

Mary has reverted to her usual cool and collected tone. "I didn't necessarily mean in Germany. I meant at some point in the future."

"Wh..wh..why are you asking this? Do you think I sleep with any man I get to know?"

"Of course not, darling. But I don't sense quite the same level of admiration in your voice with other men."

"We're friends, that's all." Sybil replies firmly, disregarding any sensation which might contradict such a statement.

"If you say so. Well, I hope your trip is fruitful, I really do. It's a horrid situation and I wish you weren't caught up in something so unpleasant. But we're all very proud of the way you're handling it."

"Thank you."

"And Tom seems like a very admirable man, taking on all the responsibility for his family, working on his own initiative."

"He just wants her home safely and he'll do whatever it takes to help. We both will."

"Then I wish you both the best of luck, darling. Just promise me that you'll be careful." Sybil's not entirely certain what her assurances entail, but she provides them nonetheless; unnerved by her sister's perception yet secretly gratified by the potential it suggests.

ooOoo

She believes that she is already in possession of a relatively strong knowledge about Tom's personality traits and characteristics, but as they land at Stuttgart airport, Sybil is now aware of three additional important facts. Firstly, he is allergic to prawns; an issue made abundantly clear when he leaps a foot backwards with horror in M&S Simply Foods at Heathrow Airport as she considers buying a prawn mayonnaise sandwich to eat on the plane. Secondly, he's short sighted and unexpectedly self-conscious about his glasses, which he only briefly whips out of his shirt pocket when he can't read the departures board, shortly before burying them away again and resolutely ignoring Sybil's attempt to admire their design. Thirdly, his journalistic career has led him to be exceedingly critical of others' published efforts; he spends his first half an hour on the plane flicking furiously through Lufthansa's in-house magazine while muttering his disapproval about split infinitives and misuse of the semi-colon.

On the other hand, Tom now has absolutely no doubt about her fear of the taking off process. Although she understands the mechanics of flying, has never allowed her anxiety to prevent her from travelling and can relax easily once in the air, she is unable to contain her nerves as the plane's engines begin to roar and she is thrown back into her seat while hurtling along the runway and rising slowly from the ground. Her fingers repeatedly drum the armrests as they wait their turn on the tarmac; an agonising delay while she nervously anticipates every nuance of noise to follow. She fidgets in her seat, scratches an improvised itch on her neck and stares out of the window, avoiding Tom's curious observation, then grasps each arm rest for security as her stomach lurches and they begin to pick up speed. Her eyes are closed and she's attempting to take deep breaths while thinking calming thoughts – sandy white beaches, a Buddhist temple, the rolling acres around Downton, anything will do – when she feels Tom's hand encircle hers. No words are uttered as she grips his fingers tightly; her eyes squeezed shut, she remains immobile for several minutes until the reassuring bell alerts them that seatbelts may now be released. Bracing herself for the inevitable sound of the engines slowing as the plane reaches its summit - without fail she imagines it will precede complete mechanical failure and an inexorable plummet to the ground – she turns slowly to face him and loudly exhales the breath she's been holding for some time. His expression is neither judgemental nor pitying and she's grateful that he doesn't ask any questions about her prior terror.

"OK?" he asks and she nods, offering a weak smile and adjusting her position in the seat. His hand releases hers and gives a reassuring pat on the wrist, before he retrieves the in-house magazine and recommences his critical analysis.

During the latter part of their journey, they finalise a loose plan of action. Tom's surplus of free time over the last few days has given him an opportunity to be wholeheartedly prepared and Sybil is impressed by his efforts. He has printed street maps and researched the main thoroughfares of the city, as well as created posters and leaflets in German, assisted by the Austrian wife of a former colleague in Dublin.

Several days earlier, and with the support of Dawn Pulliver and her team, he'd created a website findemmabranson dot org and he explains that he's trawling through its messages on a daily basis. Many are simply well meaning sentiments of support, but he passes on any potential useful information to the police, while he deletes and tries to ignore the inevitable posts of vitriolic abuse which are left by those who feed off the anonymity provided by the internet.

He's frustrated by the lack of progress with the investigation and vents his exasperation to Sybil; desperate to find potential hope or possibility within Dawn's daily updates. All of Emma's phone records have now been thoroughly researched; her colleagues, friends and family interviewed and without forthcoming evidence about the two Pay As You Go mobiles that she contacted on a regular basis, the search is grinding to a perturbing standstill.

Sybil identifies with his disappointment and distress; understands his desire to take matters into his own hands and not to leave everything in the hands of the police. She at least has a full time job to keep her mind and body occupied. More often than not she works beyond the end of her shift, reluctant to spend an excessive amount of time in the flat alone, dwelling on Emma's fate and her inability to move things along of her own accord. She's refused almost all social invitations; has no desire to join colleagues for coffee or in the pub after a long shift and declines frenzied requests from her parents to come home on her days off. They have National Trust commitments pending all month, but she's certain that her mother, desperate to comfort her youngest daughter and to reassure her maternal instincts that she is not in any danger of her own, will be on a train to London if there's no progress shortly.

They take a taxi into the centre of Stuttgart and although it's too early to check in at their hotel, an uninspiring but functional property owned by an international chain, they are able to leave their overnight bags and head immediately out to Schlossplatz, the city's scenic hub. Sybil obtains her share of leaflets and posters and they plot their respective routes along the main shopping and business streets, highlighting visits to the station and university in the hope that Emma's presence might be known. She only knows a smattering of German, but Tom has prepared her in the hope that initial efforts in their mother tongue may persuade passers-by to listen to their plea.

"Kennen Sie dieser Frau?" she asks, holding up an image of Emma's smiling face.

"Entschuldigung, können Sie mir bitte helfen?"

The results are mixed and she notes with dismay the number of people who quickly draw their mobile phone out of their pockets, desperate to give the impression of being otherwise occupied, as she approaches. Office workers on their lunch breaks hurry past giving a swift shake of their heads to deter her, while harassed mothers with children in tow are rarely compliant to her request. The young are generally more receptive, particularly at an opportunity to practice their English and she soon learns how to gain the attention of middle aged men, easily swayed by a pretty face. She's grateful that it remains dry, despite the unremitting grey cloud ahead and the temperatures haven't yet dropped enough for her to be perturbed by a lengthy stint. On a couple of occasions, someone displays initial recognition at the sight of Emma's photograph; eyes narrow and Sybil's heart races with hope and anticipation before all expectation is dashed by the subsequent reply.

"I read about this woman when I was in London last week" explains a smartly dressed woman with an apologetic shrug, while a young female student gives an embarrassed smile and admits "She looks like my cousin. Sorry, that's why I thought I know her."

Tom texts her with news of similarly demoralising circumstances, but they agree to continue until six thirty, catching the evening commuters heading home, after which point they meet at the hotel and plan the evening's strategy. Retiring to their respective rooms for an hour, Sybil takes a welcome shower and rests her aching feet on the bed while she sorts through another pile of leaflets. They'll choose the liveliest neighbourhood for dinner – although the crowds are likely to be limited on a Monday night – and hope that they might catch a different set of residents from their daytime efforts. After hastily consuming plates of pasta in an Italian trattoria recommended by the hotel receptionist, they persuade the owner to display a poster and begin to visit bars and other restaurants with a similar request. On several occasions they are recognised by those who passed them during the day and there's increased sympathy and a genuine desire to help by those enjoying more relaxed circumstances. They're only minutes away from calling it a night when a young man approaches them as they move to exit from another bar in which they've circulated.

"Excuse me. I think maybe I know her" he says. Sybil swallows quickly and despite the disappointments earlier in the day, feels a swell of anticipation. Tom's nodding eagerly and holding out a copy of the poster, while the man narrows his eyes and gives a little shrug while he struggles to provide an explanation within his limited grasp of English.

"I think maybe she work in a café near my job. I don't know for sure, but I think she is from Ireland and she work there only three or four weeks now."

"Where is it, is it open now?" Tom asks keenly, but the man shakes his head.

"Morning and afternoon only. No evening." He gives them the name and address and brushes off their repeated attempts at gratitude. "I hope for you" he adds with a smile as they depart.

As they walk back to the hotel, Sybil's beside herself with excitement, although she knows she shouldn't raise her hopes too greatly and she can see that Tom is battling with mixed emotions as he searches for the café's location on his phone.

"It still might not be her." he mutters as he strides along, puffing furiously on a cigarette and she has to almost skip in order to keep up with him, nodding in support and not daring to verbalise her own anticipation. It's Sybil who suggests a drink in the bar when they return to the hotel. Although she's not certain that she ought to be encouraging his alcohol consumption, she can see how agitated he is and can't imagine that he'll be able to sleep unless he has a chance to reflect and calm down. She's only half way through her glass of wine when he finishes his beer and she expects him to buy himself another, but instead he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes in contemplation.

"Christ Sybil, this might be it. Whatever she's done or is hiding from, it doesn't matter. Even if she doesn't want to come home, we might finally be able to get some answers." She murmurs in accord, despite not wishing to commit to such optimism, and he waits patiently for her to finish her drink. They're on different floors but share the lift and he turns towards her when it reaches the third floor on which he's based. She can't help but remember her conversation with Mary as their eyes lock in what she has no doubt now is mutual appreciation. However, there is no sense of expectation, nor belief that her sister's suspicions may be fulfilled; whatever emotions they each possess are focussed on Emma this evening and Sybil does not feel disappointed when he leans forward to gently kiss her cheek.

"Night, Sybil. See you in the morning."

ooOoo

It's no surprise that they each wake early, despite their physical exertions of the previous day and evening. There's relative silence over the breakfast table, neither daring to voice their hopes too greatly for fear of subsequent disappointment. Most other guests are here on business; a vision of dark suits and hastily drunk coffee before they depart. With their casual clothes and shared table, Sybil muses that they must appear to be on holiday, an established couple leisurely choosing how to spend their day. Although she tries not to dwell on the image, it's not unpleasant and once established, becomes difficult to banish from her mind.

Tom suggests that they walk and Sybil's happy to pass more time that way, rather than take the tram. The café's website explains that it opens at nine thirty and the hotel receptionist advises that a brisk walk to the outer suburb where it's located will take little more than forty minutes. Checking out before nine, they attempt to stroll and Sybil tries to distract a chain-smoking Tom by pointing out various items of interest - a statue of a long forgotten prince, second hand bookshop, a 17th Century water fountain - but she's aware that he's only half-heartedly paying attention. However, her efforts serve their purpose and it's nine thirty five when they arrive at the café, Sybil's stomach lurching with both fear and excitement. A quick glance in Tom's direction makes it clear that he's experiencing similar emotions but he assumes a confident air as he pushes open the door and they step outside.

"Guten Morgen!" comes the cheery cry from the middle aged woman standing behind the counter and they both hesitate, unsure how to appropriately commence with their enquiry.

"Guten Morgen" Tom repeats, nodding his head and clearing his throat in preparation. "Um..Sprechen Sie Englisch?"

The woman smiles kindly "Yes a little, but…" she turns her head towards the kitchen and calls out "Emily!"

As her colleague enters the room, Sybil feels her heart momentarily miss a beat before she is abruptly enveloped by disappointment.

"It's not her" Tom mutters and she reaches out blindly to hold his hand in silent support.

The women are both watching him without comprehension and the older of the two speaks softly to her colleague, who offers a cheery grin and asks in a soft Irish lilt. "Can we help you at all?"

Sybil can't speak, she's so overwhelmed by frustration and distress. Despite her attempts to remain level-headed and realistic about their prospects, she had gradually come to believe that their search would come to fruition and she is unable to offer any explanation to the women who appear increasingly concerned by their silence.

"Are you OK?" Emily asks, beginning to walk towards them and Tom emits an incomprehensible sound as he clasps Sybil's hand tightly and reaches out to hold a nearby chair for support with his other palm.

"I thought you were my sister" he whispers and Sybil feels accompanying tears of loss and regret spring to her eyes.

"Oh…" Emily awkwardly replies, rubbing at her elbow with obvious discomfort. Sybil reaches into her bag and pulls out one of Tom's leaflets, thrusting it towards this imposter and attempting to curtail her expression of sadness.

"She's gone missing and somebody told us that she might work here. You look quite similar to her in many ways and you're Irish…" her voice tails off wearily and Emily's face twists in sympathy.

"Yes, I've read about her…I'm so sorry. My Mam said that she thought she looks a bit like me, said it unnerved her." She realises that her words are not in any way comforting and comes to a halt, pulling at the straps on her apron and making a face in apology.

"The police have been told about two sightings here in Stuttgart…" Tom makes a contribution, his voice thick with emotion. "One in a department store…um Galleria Kaufhof, I think it's called."

"Well I have been in there, so it could have been me."

"And the other in a café, which I guess was here."

"Probably." Emily looks away, seemingly embarrassed to be the cause of such bitter disappointment. "I'm sorry, I hope you find her."

"She speaks German you see…" Tom appears to want to clarify why they've made the journey; to justify their belief that Emma might be found here. "…she studied in Tübingen and I just thought…"

"…that she might have come back here. I understand. I'm really so very sorry that you've made such a wasted journey…" There's nothing more to be said. Sybil wonders if out of courtesy, they should sit and order a drink, but Tom's beginning to back towards the door, mumbling apologies to disguise his distress and so she gives Emily a brief smile and follows. He doesn't wait for her; she pulls the door firmly shut and sees him already striding along the pavement, pulling his packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. Even from a distance of twenty or so metres, she can see his hands shaking as he repeatedly attempts to light up and on reaching him, she spots his tears.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" he shouts after another futile attempt and she reaches forward to take the lighter and his cigarette out of his hands. She hasn't smoked since medical school and even then had only a handful of amateur attempts, but she manages not to cough as she lights the cigarette before passing it back into his trembling hands.

"Thanks" he says, closing his eyes as the first rush of nicotine hits him and begins to instil an element of calm. They stand motionless at the edge of the pavement for a few minutes, pedestrians passing hurriedly past, until Sybil pulls gently on his arm.

"Come on, let's find somewhere else to go and have a hot drink and talk about it."

Tom sighs. "You realise we're stuck here all day now? The flight's not until five." It's really the least of her concerns at present, but she nods and indicates with her head that they should carry on walking. The street turns residential and she guides him to an adjacent road, determined that they should not head back the way they came and pass Emily's café once more. After a few minutes they come across an alternative venue and Sybil takes charge, ordering coffee and '_schwarztee mit milch'_; the waitress in the hotel had taught her the phrase this morning after observing her disappointment with the herbal variety served. Tom appears calmer now, the cigarette and brisk walk have restored his composure, but it's impossible for him to adequately express his disappointment. He had attempted to remain realistic about the prospect of Emma's discovery here, but Sybil understands that his hope had also gradually turned to belief, only to be eliminated in an instant by a woman who bore only a passing resemblance to his sister.

Uncertain of how to respond, Sybil lightly places her hand on his across the table and he smiles gratefully, twisting his wrist so that they are entwined. Words can't effectively express how either of them is feeling and they sit motionless for several minutes, Tom staring forlornly out of the window, while Sybil observes the barista expertly dealing with the coffee machine behind the counter. All of her previous fears about Emma's fate are restored, but she sees the misery in Tom's face and understands that this trip was not only an opportunity to find her, but also to restore his family ties and to begin their process of healing.

She's so lucky, she reflects, not simply because of her family background and the privilege and comfort it provides, but by the stability her parents have given her and her sisters throughout her life. Regardless of disagreements and inevitable teenage conflict, she has always been confident of their unconditional love and support, the knowledge of which guides her through any difficult period or misguided decision. There has always been sibling rivalry and dispute from time to time, yet she is certain that if she needed their help, either of her sisters would willingly step forward without hesitation. She cannot imagine any quarrel or discord which would lead to their estrangement, nor truly appreciate the circumstances under which such an arrangement could occur.

Tom's childhood seems to have been swathed in bitterness, grief and recrimination and she can only begin to imagine the heartbreak caused by divorce, death and long-lasting separation. He masks his vulnerability behind a veil of ill-humour at times, yet in the last three trying weeks she's seen plenty of evidence of the loyal and kind-hearted man who lies beneath.

In Sybil's professional life, it is her duty to heal the wounded and the instinctive consequence is her desire to help Tom regain some form of contentment and equilibrium within his life. She is in no doubt now that her feelings for him run deeper than simply friendship, but understands that he may not be in a position to consider such a prospect while Emma's fate remains unresolved. In the meantime, she can offer both support and solace and hopes that their shared experiences will hold any possible change to their relationship in good stead.

They make a sombre pair walking back to the hotel to collect their luggage and Tom is only marginally cheered by Sybil's suggestion of visiting the Porsche Museum to fill the remaining hours before they head back to the airport. She's aware of his love of cars and he's confessed a secret ambition to write for a motoring magazine in the future. It's not the most appropriate circumstances for him to entirely enjoy their short excursion, but it does appear to take his mind off their disappointment for at least a few minutes at a time as he stops to admire the top range models on display. Nevertheless, the reality of the situation has to be faced when they later land back in London; the search for Emma has once again ground to a halt.

* * *

_German translations (apologies to Andorra97 if I wrote any incorrectly, it's 20 years since I lived there!): _

_Kennen Sie dieser Frau? – Do you know this woman?_

_Entschuldigung, können Sie mir bitte helfen? – Excuse me, can you please help me?_

_Guten Morgen – Good morning_

_Sprechen Sie Englisch? – Do you speak English?_

_Schwarztee mit milch – Black tea with milk. (Basically the way that British people drink it. Otherwise you are served a very light tea with lemon)_

_**I know you all wanted something to happen between Sybil and Tom in Stuttgart, but if I tell you that your patience will be rewarded very soon, will you forgive me?!**_


	11. Chapter 11

Less than a month later and Tom is booking another flight, this time to Dublin. He'd planned to visit later in November anyway, to liaise with Bryan Lynch about the Garda's side of the investigation and check for himself how his mother is faring, but now he's brought it forward. A woman called Fionnula, who claims to be Emma's friend, rings him on his mobile a couple of days earlier and asks to meet with him.

"I'm in London" he explains impatiently after she tells him that she first met Emma at a fitness class in Dublin and that they spent a lot of time together before she moved away.

"I know that, but can you come over, do you think? I don't want to give you this information over the phone."

He is instinctively sceptical, both about her identity and the news she wishes to share. The hunt for Emma has gone cold and after the disappointment in Stuttgart, he's learned to protect his heart and emotions against false hope. The police have appealed publicly to the owners of the two Pay As You Go phones who they wish to trace and the internet is full of speculation and crackpot theories about Emma's personal life. He spends too much time wiping messages of hate and disdain from the website and is keen to avoid a wasted journey across the Irish Sea. However, she's persistent in her desire to talk and his curiosity is finally aroused.

"My mobile number was in Emma's phone, the Garda spoke to me. You can check with them." she clarifies in order to substantiate her claim.

"Then why didn't you tell them this supposedly important information?"

"Because Emma told me in confidence and I didn't want to betray her trust. I thought she'd come back, but now I'm worrying that she might not and I want you to decide if what she told me might be relevant." She won't be drawn any further and reluctantly, he decides to bring his plans forward and fly over in a couple of days' time. It is unfortunate timing. He's finally arranged a weekend to visit Kieran in Liverpool and his train ticket is booked. His good intentions now seem feeble, although his brother expresses understanding and a genuine desire to re-arrange at the earliest opportunity. From their recent telephone conversations, Tom's gained the impression that Kieran's experiencing guilt about his estrangement from a blameless Emma and would welcome an opportunity to share some long-held confidences with the only person who might truly understand.

The afternoon before he flies, he arranges a long over-due appointment with his ex-girlfriend, Amanda. He's working again now; reluctantly Michael has accepted that a resolution to the case may not be imminent and he's permitting a return to his role. The exception to this, however is that Amanda continues to cover the search for Emma. He's emailed her with whatever details of the case he's prepared to share with the general public, however she's also reported facts from elsewhere, so he knows that she's been undertaking some independent research. She's been asking for an opportunity to meet and he's finally agreed, meeting her for coffee in central London. She's almost twenty minutes late which infuriates him as much now as it did ten years ago, but she at least has the good grace to apologise nowadays and offer a reasonable sounding excuse about a delay on the tube.

"You look well!" she says cheerily as she sits opposite, stirring sugar into her coffee and glancing up at him with a confident smile.

"Do I? Are you suggesting that having a missing sister suits me?" he replies, not meaning it to sound in any way bad tempered, but curious nonetheless.

"Well I hope not. No, it's just the last few times we bumped into one another…you know before all this happened, you didn't look so…" she clears her throat awkwardly "…well, clear eyed and presentable to be honest." He's momentarily lost for words; not certain how he should respond, but her head tips to one side and she looks genuinely concerned.

"I'm not trying to speak out of turn, Tom but I got the impression you were on the booze quite heavily again and I was a bit worried for you."

"Were you? You didn't say anything at the time."

"No well it's not my place to nowadays. But anyway, you look focussed and well, healthier."

"I've cut down a lot since she's gone missing. Hopefully it'll stay that way after she comes back too."

Amanda looks away momentarily, before regaining eye contact and asking in a gentler tone. "Do you think she will, Tom…deep down, do you still believe it?"

He feels his heart harden at the slightest suggestion otherwise and the pulse in his cheek moves into overdrive.

"I have to believe it." he replies and she nods with compassion. Wanting to change the subject for a while, despite there being no other reason why they should meet, he deflects her questioning with his own.

"And how are you, how's your…" he hesitates for only a fraction of a second, before deciding that he has a fifty-fifty chance of being correct and hoping for the best. "…daughter?" The softening of her expression lets him know that for once, he has made the correct choice.

"Oh she's grand, thank you. She's a little character, but utterly charming…well most of the time, that is! I know every parent says this, but she's completely changed my life and in a good way."

"I'm happy for you." The sentiment is genuine, he means her no ill-will.

"I don't suppose it'll ever be right for you though…" she continues with a smile "…parenthood?"

He feels immediately defensive and is aware of his change to a frosty demeanour. "Why do you say that?"

"Well you've never shown any sign of settling down, have you? I don't just mean with me, with anyone over the years."

"Perhaps I just haven't met the right woman."

"Maybe. I think it would all get in the way though, can't see you wanting to make compromises to your lifestyle."

"Well you did. Everyone has to when they have a child, don't they?"

"Yes but I've just always got the impression that you want to keep living the same life - drinking, reading, shagging around."

"I don't shag around…" he responds indignantly before adding "…well I haven't for a long time, anyway."

"Staying faithful to one person" she continues, looking down at her drink.

"It was only ever the once and I said how sorry I was at the time." She offers him a curt smile and he gives the sigh of a man who knows he is in the wrong. "I'd never done it before and I've never done it since. I was completely pissed, I hardly remember it."

"You were usually completely pissed in those days from what I remember, even when you were with me."

"That's an exaggeration."

"Only a little. Certainly in bed, you were almost always drunk."

He rubs his forehead awkwardly and looks away. "I think we had this conversation ten years ago, do we really need to have it again?"

Watching her sit upright and offer a non-committal shrug, he briefly reflects on their few months together, many years previously. He hadn't been particularly interested in her at first, after they started working simultaneously on a graduate training scheme for a large Dublin daily. She'd impressed him with her writing style and work ethic and although they often went to the pub together for a de-brief, he'd been taken by surprise when she'd asked him out to the cinema. If he was honest, he'd gone along almost out of courtesy, but mutual respect had led to friendship, followed by romance and he'd mostly enjoyed the time they'd spent together. Neither of them had ever seriously discussed the future, but from time to time he had wondered if their friendship might form the basis of a long-lasting relationship. However, he had never believed that he was in love with her and the thought of being committed to one person at such a relatively young age caused him to feel confined and discontent. She is correct that he was drinking heavily during that period, although at the time he felt that their profession and age offered justification. Now can he see that it was the beginning of a long-lasting problem, only ever curtailed for brief periods of time and that it must have made him tiresome company. Out with friends one Friday evening, he'd been dragged reluctantly out of a bar and into a club, where a woman had made a beeline for him, or so it seemed at the time. He can only remember the sketchy details, but he'd woken up in her bed, hungover and consumed with self-loathing. It was quite possible that Amanda could have remained oblivious to the entire incident, certainly his friends were unlikely to have shared the details. However, he was by nature an honourable man and had decided to confess in the hope that he could learn his lesson and make amends. Amanda, on the other hand, saw no such opportunity and ended their relationship with immediate effect, remaining otherwise silent in his company for several years but composing a subsequent letter so full of embittered and scathing sentiment, that it had left him feeling physically shaken. It's no wonder that she's turned out to be such a competent journalist; her choice of words and phrasing are well judged and precise.

They discuss the investigation and its frustrating lack of progress. He gives her a couple of tiny snippets of irrelevant information that have not previously been made public and in return, asks her not to focus on the unsubstantiated rumours about his sister's love life. "It's pure speculation…" he stresses "…we have no idea who those mobiles belong to, there is no evidence to suggest that she was having an affair."

"But you think she probably was?" she asks with a sly smile, her journalistic instinct raised and the scent for a good story in place.

"There is _no_ evidence, Amanda…" he stresses "…I am asking you very politely to work with me here. You're doing my job, so please respect my family as you do so."

She pulls a conciliatory face and nods. "I promise, but if you get any news, will you give me your assurance that you'll let me know first? Before it's released across the board?"

"If I can, yes. It's my paper too, remember…my role. It's in my interest for you to do a good job." They part on relatively good terms, Amanda no doubt reassured that she made the right decision all those years ago and reminding herself of her subsequent good fortune and contentment. Tom rattled by her suggestion that he will never be able to settle down and wondering, as so often is the case nowadays, whether Sybil's impression of him is comparable.

ooOoo

He meets Fionnula Kennedy on the bank of the Liffey, agreeing to her cautious request not to relay information amongst the company of others. In spite of the natural curiosity such a demand arouses, he's instinctively cautious. The woman had sounded theatrical in her appeal and he suspects that she is enjoying the potential of a central role in her friend's drama. She's dressed smartly, despite it being a Saturday and repeatedly flicks her long dark hair over her shoulder as they exchange polite greetings. Her perfectly manicured nails indicate that he should walk alongside her on the river bank and on more than one occasion, she glances hesitantly over her shoulder. Tom feels little but irritation and wonders if his journey has been wasted by her melodramatics.

"Are you expecting someone?" he asks impatiently as she looks behind her once again.

"Well you never know." she replies solemnly and he turns his head towards the river, rolling his eyes.

"Have you told anyone else what you're about to tell me?"

She shakes her head and he sighs loudly, ensuring that she has no doubt that he is tiring of her game. "Well we're not in an episode of _The Bill_. Come on, what is it that you think is so important?"

Fionnula clears her throat and takes a deep breath, scowling at his lack of interest in her performance. "Emma told me, quite some time before she left for London, that she was having an affair."

"Right" The news comes as no surprise after the circumstances of the last few weeks, but he's keen to learn more. "So do you know with who?"

"I don't know his name, no but apparently he's a well-known politician." This revelation has the effect of bringing Tom to a sudden halt on the river path and his eyes widen as he turns to face her.

"She told you that? You're sure?"

Fionnula nods determinedly. "Yes. He's not a minister, but he's got a role in government, I don't know which."

"And when did this begin?"

"About a year or so before she left for London."

"And you think it continued after she moved?"

Fionnula looks seriously at him and his heart sinks at the potential outcome of her news. "No, she said she was going to finish it when she left. She was bored. He took her to some house down in County Wicklow at the weekends, but obviously they never went out in public together or anything. She enjoyed it at first, said he gave her lovely presents and treated her like a princess. I think she was pretty keen on him in the beginning…him and his position. But he was never going to leave his wife and she said that she couldn't see the point in carrying it on any longer if she was going to be in London."

"I see and did she finish it, do you know?"

Fionnula shrugs her shoulders. "I did text her and ask but she never replied."

"And so why do you think this might have something to do with her disappearance?"

"I don't know if it does, but I've been carrying on with all this knowledge eating up at me and I just want someone else to make the decision as to whether or not the police should be told."

"Of course the police have to be told!" Tom snaps, partly in response to her naivety but additionally in dread at the unwelcome publicity it could create. "This isn't some bloody movie, you know! We're not going to start hiring a private detective or having Leonardo di Caprio swing in to investigate!" She takes offence at his swift change in tone and he doesn't really blame her.

"Look I'm sorry, but this is potentially very serious, regardless of whether or not he's involved in Emma's disappearance." Another unwelcome thought crosses his mind and he poses his next question with caution. "Do you think she might have been blackmailing him?"

"I don't think so…" she replies "…she never seemed the type to do something like that and she gave me the impression that she was simply moving on. She'd had her fun and now she was going to have a fresh start. I mean she's your sister, do you think she's a likely blackmailer?"

Tom shakes his head, although in reality he's once again reflecting that he has never truly known Emma and that she may be capable of things previously unimaginable.

"Did you share lots of secrets, the two of you? I mean, do you know anything else that hasn't been in the public eye? If there's anything you can think of, you should tell me now."

"There's nothing else" she replies, meeting his eye firmly and he believes that she's telling the truth. "To be honest, we just had one of those really intense friendships for a short while. We met at the gym, got on well and saw loads of each other over about a three or four month period and then it kind of tailed off. We didn't fall out or anything, but I didn't see anywhere near as much of her in the couple of months before she moved away. But in that period when we went out a lot and spent time at each other's flats, we did talk quite a bit about men and relationships and that's when she told me." Fionnula breaks her gaze and stares out at the river. "I told her that I'd had an affair with a married man and asked her if she was shocked and then she swore me to secrecy and told me." She pauses before looking back at Tom. "We'd had a few drinks, I don't think she'd have told me if she was stone cold sober. The next day, she was quite uptight about the fact that she'd spilled the beans. Said that nobody else knew and made me promise that I'd never tell anyone."

Tom nods thoughtfully before she concludes her confession. "That's why I've left it until now. I didn't want her to ever think that I'd betrayed her. I mean, I know I've got a lot of faults, but disloyalty isn't one of them. But now…well, it's been so many weeks and I'm just so frightened about what's happened to her."

Turning around and retracing their route before the two part, Tom reiterates the information to ensure that there can be no case of mistaken identity. Emma shared very little beyond a governmental role and the man's domestic commitments. His age seems indeterminable, but with a little research, he could probably narrow the search to half a dozen potential candidates. However, if the information goes public, the weight of suspicion on those who are innocent will be heavy. Emma's good reputation is already in doubt and any evidence to support the existing theories will make her notorious. Her potential safe return would be biased by the difficulty of returning seamlessly into everyday life after such a public revelation. He has no idea whether or not the disclosure is relevant to the case and in part wishes that Emma had retained her secrets. He suspects that she partook in an impulsive game of one-upmanship against a competitive friend, her tongue loosened by alcohol. Having kept her visits to a therapist from everyone who knows her, he's certain that she is ordinarily prudent with the information she shares and that this admission was a rare indiscretion, one that could now cost her dearly.

ooOoo

He lets his mother know that he's on his way and she awaits his arrival from her usual place on the sofa. Her face is etched with stress and once again, she doesn't rise to greet him. He can't help but think that her hip will never show signs of improvement if she doesn't make any effort to use it, but doesn't dare vocalise such reflection. She accepts his kiss of greeting and David mutters his intention to make them both coffee, seemingly gratified to be spared their stilted efforts at conversation.

"So what brings you here, Tom?" she asks through a mask of disapproval. He has no intention of sharing Fionnula's revelation until he's discussed it with Dawn Pulliver and can't help but consider how detached his mother is from the case. Although he has made the effort to contact her regularly, she has offered no constructive suggestions of her own, nor voiced any suspicions that she might hold about her daughter. Her telephone conversations consist mostly of discussing interviews she has granted to the local press and the reaction of anyone in the locality to their circumstances. It is as if she is taking the starring role in an otherwise mundane TV crime drama, disregarding the day to day evidence, but instead focussing on the reviews and accolades provided. There has been little over which to deliberate in recent days and she's eager to cast aspersions over Tom's efforts.

"I can't see why you need to come here, when it's clear that it all happened in London." she sniffs and he feels his stomach automatically clench at her displeasure.

"I needed to see my Editor…" he lies "…have a chat with the Garda and I wanted to see you Mam…see how you're bearing up."

"Yes well I'm not sleeping well, but would you expect anything otherwise?" she sighs and he reaches forward to pat her hand in sympathy.

"I expect you're sleeping like a log" she says with an accusing tone and he senses a familiar feeling of unjust condemnation. "You always did, whenever anything was wrong. You and your brother. A bomb could have gone off in your bedrooms and you'd have slept through it."

In a subdued tone, he can't help but retaliate. "How would you know, Mam? We didn't sleep in the same house as you."

"You were exactly the same before!" she snaps and he is momentarily transported to the early years and his attempts to block out the vociferous arguments and desperate tears of misery. No wonder that he and Kieran learned to sleep soundly as a result. As usual, he tries to deflect the criticism and avoids any further deliberate confrontation.

"Anyway, I'm liaising daily with the police and they're doing everything they can, Mam. I know it's upsetting and frightening for us all, but we've got to keep strong." He once again touches her hand lightly in an attempt at reassurance. "For Emma's sake."

Margaret snorts in derision. "A lot you cared about her before she went missing!" she declares and although Tom knows that there's truth in her accusation, he is determined not to allow the weight of blame to be laid solely upon his shoulders.

"I don't think any of us spent enough time with her in recent years, I realise that now. But we can all make it up to her when she comes home."

"Don't accuse me of abandoning my daughter!" she snaps and he raises his hands in an attempt to terminate the suggestion.

"Of course not, Mam. I wasn't…"

"I wanted to see her, wanted to speak to her. Only she was much too busy having fun and being Miss La-di-da with her important job to think much about her mother."

He doesn't react and can't think of any response that would placate her. Her irritation at his refusal to take part in this verbal spar is made abundantly clear from her expression and she concludes with a final unjustified attack.

"You should have kept her safe over there, Tom." He stands up and places his hands in his pockets so that she cannot see how much they are shaking.

"I don't think this conversation is doing either of us any good to be honest, Mam. I'll just go and see how David's getting on with the coffee, OK and we'll all calm down a little."

His step father is hovering outside the door with a tray, appearing uncertain of his welcome back in the room and Tom nods his head towards him. "You can go in, you know." He steps into the back garden, out of his mother's sight and smokes a cigarette in an attempt to install calm, his emotions alternating from righteous indignation to a desperate desire for her acceptance.

He's pouring himself a glass of water in the kitchen when Amy enters through the back door. She gives him a hesitant smile, hovering in the doorway and he reminds himself of his earlier pledge to try and rectify their relationship.

"Been into town?" he asks brightly and feels shamed by her immediate smile of pleasure, caused by such unexpected interest.

"No, an extra rehearsal for the school play. It's in a couple of weeks."

"Right, yes, Mam told me. What is it?"

"The Crucible."

"One of my favourites" he replies with honesty and her face once again lights up at his words.

"And you're playing…?"

"Abigail" she replies and he arranges his expression into one of sincere approval.

"Very impressive. Who's your John Proctor then?"

"Um…Eamon Burton, he's in the year above. He's pretty good."

"Well you'll have to email me a photo after. I'd like to see one." He feels rewarded by the small efforts he's making. Amy is clearly delighted with such recognition and is hopping from one foot to another as she nods with enthusiasm.

"Is Mam in?" she asks, indicating her head towards the living room and he nods.

"She's a bit uptight"

"Well that's not unusual" Her voice is etched with tension and he realises how difficult the last few weeks must have been for her, on the edge of proceedings yet directly affected by every aspect.

"We've had words so I'm going to pop out for a bit." He gives her a conspiratorial grin. "Give her a chance to calm down."

"Are you staying here tonight?" she asks and he concurs.

"I think I'll just go for a pint and then come back." An impulsive idea pops into his head and he acts without giving it his full consideration. "Do you fancy coming with me? I'll buy you a coke."

Amy's eyes widen and for a moment he wonders if he has spoken out of turn. However, a broad smile contradicts this line of thought and she swiftly picks up the bag she had earlier discarded on the table.

"I'd better check with Mam" she says, making a face and he immediately anticipates the inevitable obstacle of his mother's disapproval.

"Mam!" he hears her call as she exits the kitchen. "Tom's asked me if I want to go for a drink with him…"

"…for a coke or something! Just to that licenced café down the road, not a pub." he hastily explains as he follows her. "Don't worry, I won't let her drink alcohol."

He foresees a battle, but is ready to match Amy's potential disobedience with his own defiance, prepared to deal with any consequences involved. Nothing had prepared him, however, for the venomous disgust in his mother's face as she rises unsteadily to her feet, clutching on to her husband for support.

"How dare you!" she shouts and Tom has no doubt that she would have lurched forward to strike him if her mobility wasn't so restricted.

Once again, he raises his hands in an attempt to deflect and appease, but before he has had an opportunity to raise his defence, she continues.

"Is it not enough that you've ended up just like your father? And now you're trying to corrupt Amy with your drunken ways!" Her voice pitches to a high shrill as she repeats her earlier declaration. "How dare you!"

"I'm going for one drink…" he says in shock, his voice hoarse with emotion. Yet his mother is unrelenting in her vitriolic accusation and he can feel his body beginning to shake in response.

"You can get out of here with your filthy Branson ways!" she shrieks and he is blind to the subsequent looks of horror and mortification on both Amy and David's faces. Without a moment's hesitation, he turns around and moves to the hallway. He picks up his rucksack from where he earlier left it and walks swiftly out of the house.

ooOoo

His first instinct as he walks is to go the pub. He would like to drink until he can't feel any more, to erase the sensations of rejection and despair from his body and clear his mind of the overwhelming self-destructive thoughts within. There's a yearning for the familiar feeling of his senses numbing and the false perception of calm and serenity which briefly follows, before the concluding relief of obliteration. Yet without knowing why, he passes by the first bar and only briefly hesitates outside the second. Suddenly he understands that he simply wants to go home and Dublin no longer holds that definition. A taxi to the airport and the surrender of his credit card to the appropriate charges means that he can be on the ten past six flight back to London and he finds himself wandering in what he still thinks of as the duty free shop, although such tax respites are no longer available. He treats himself to a bottle of single malt named 'Writers Tears', which seems an appropriate description at the present time and resists the temptation to open it before he even boards the plane. Suddenly he remembers his vow to no longer drink alone and in particular, this disclosure to Sybil. He's desperate to take comfort in the bottle this evening, and although he made no specific promise to her, is loath to break his pledge. With a start he remembers that she has worked an early shift today and as is her custom since Emma disappeared, is planning on spending the evening at home. The thought of seeing her always gladdens his heart, but he finds himself wanting to talk to her and express his anger and frustration at his visit home. He has no wish to burden her with his problems, nor indeed bore her with tales of his ruptured family, yet he believes she will lend a sympathetic ear and perhaps assist him to find a sense of peace with what has taken place.

She's surprised to hear of his change of plan, but sounds enthusiastic about a proposed visit and offers to delay the Chinese takeaway she is on the verge of ordering. It's almost half past nine by the time he arrives, but she looks bright eyed and welcoming, despite the exertion of an eleven hour shift behind her. In contrast, he is wholly aware that he must appear far from his best, however she serves the takeaway without comment and he gratefully accepts an offered beer as he firstly relates the information shared by Fionnula. After such a tumultuous afternoon, the meeting feels as if took place days ago, but Sybil is naturally concerned by her revelations and the subsequent implications it may have on both the investigation and Emma's reputation within the media.

"Will you tell Dawn?" she asks and he responds with a weary nod of his head.

"I briefly considered looking into it myself, but I think they're better equipped to do it appropriately, to be honest. They don't have to make it public, they can get the Garda to make some subtle enquiries and see if it's got any bearing on the case."

"Do you think it has?"

"I honestly don't know Sybil. It offers a legitimate theory, but I don't want to jump on it, in case it isn't. Somehow it all seems a bit far-fetched, like a film or something. You know, the adulterous politician getting rid of his mistress in case she spills the beans. I know I should feel some kind of dread and fear about the whole concept, but deep down I just find it hard to believe." He rubs his head and closes his eyes momentarily. "I'd like to know who he is though, of course. I mean, he's been messing with my sister so I'd like an opportunity to confront him at some point."

"It doesn't sound to me as if anyone was messing with her. From what this Fionnula says, Emma went into it with her eyes wide open and made an objective decision to walk away when she'd had enough. It's his wife who ought to be angry, not you." It's a point of view that he hasn't previously considered but on reflection he believes that Sybil's right. Emma isn't a young girl, she's independent and capable and while she may be dazzled and influenced by a position of power, she's certainly no innocent in the affair. The thought unsettles him and he gives up any pretence that he can eat more than a few mouthfuls of food. Revealing his airport purchase, he pours two glasses and pushes one towards her.

"Have you ever had a good Irish whiskey? Not Jameson's, but the top stuff?"

She shakes her head and gives it a cautious sniff. "My Dad drinks scotch and I've joined him from time to time. This smells lovely actually." Her delicate sips are in sharp contrast to the rapid way he approaches his and he pours himself a second while avoiding meeting her curious stare.

"What happened?" she asks softly "Why did you come back early?"

Still averting eye contact, he offers a half-hearted shrug as he swills his glass. "My mother as usual" he replies and the with the day's tension once again seeping throughout his body, he rises to his feet, reaching for the jacket he had thrown across a chair when he first entered the room.

"I'm going down for a cigarette. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Stay" she requests and he's about to contradict her, when she moves across to the living room window and begins to adjust the latch. "I'll open it, it's fine. Don't keep going downstairs, talk to me." There's a nervous cough as she seems to wonder if she has overstepped a mark, before cautiously adding "If you want to, of course."

For a moment he hesitates. He's spent his whole life trying to shield his friends and lovers from the reality of his past that it has now become instinctive to deflect from the truth and mould it into something more palatable. For once, however, he's tired of the pretence and longs to relieve himself of long-held emotions. He feels closer to Sybil than anybody he can remember in many years and although he reminds himself of his vow not to behave inappropriately, yearns to release the burden of truth. He pours another whiskey and raises his eyebrows at her request for the same, before slowly beginning to reveal the painful facts.

He is clear to firstly lay the foundations, to clarify that his parents' marriage had once been happy and filled with love, even though the cracks had first appeared before his birth. Yet he has faint memories of Da, with his rich and soulful voice, singing 'Maggie May' in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around his wife and whisking her around the room in a joyful embrace. His father was probably fuelled by alcohol even in those days, but he remembers her laughing and he and Kieran clapping their hands in accompaniment. The breakdown of any relationship is rarely one-sided and he knows that his father must have been difficult to live with. His job as a salesman was without steady income and although he claimed to be able to _'sell ice to the eskimos'_, the times of plenty were mirrored by those of drought. Margaret Branson was bringing up two boys with what he provided and her frustration at his frequent expenditure in the pub was justifiable. Yet it's impossible to know if his drinking caused her bitterness, or whether the two were simply indelibly entwined. One of his earliest memories is of hearing her complain to a friend that she _'wasn't meant to be the mother of boys'._ From the very beginning, he had been under the impression that he had in some way disappointed her and no matter how hard he strove to gain a strong foothold in her affections, the end result was always unattainable. Divorce remained the ultimate shame in 1980s Ireland and they remained locked in conflict for years. His father would disappear for days on end, often under the pretence of work, while Margaret was left to borrow and beg from friends and relatives until he returned bearing gifts and remorse. Her fury was understandable, but the effect on her sons was equally heartrending. Torn by loyalty between their parents, they would attempt to comfort one another within the sanctity of their bedrooms while down below the ferocity of argument was played out with screams of accusation. Regardless of her growing disdain and disillusionment, his father never stopped loving Margaret and Tom is certain that the opposing flames of desire were also not entirely extinguished.

There were brief episodes of respite in which his father worked hard and resisted his vices, bringing home a decent wage and a feeling of bonhomie and contentment. It was during one of these periods that Emma was conceived, a last ditch attempt to restore their relationship and to bring stability to the family unit. Margaret was delivered the daughter she had always desired and for a short time, there was consistency in their lives. Yet before his sister had reached her first birthday, the cracks had reappeared and his father lapsed into previous temptations. Margaret's clear preference for her daughter sent her sons instinctively into the arms of their father for solace and only served to further enrage her sense of unjust. When the inevitable separation took place, Margaret's decision was unrelenting. She would keep her beloved Emma and her boys would live with the father they so clearly favoured. Heart felt pleas from both Tom and Kieran to spend an equal amount of time with each parent fell on deaf ears and their opportunities to visit were carefully rationed. As a result, the sister they had both adored from birth became a stranger and the consequences have resonated throughout their lives.

Living with their father provided fun as well as anxiety. He was a larger than life character when plied with drink and a kind and loving man if sober. Tom remembers many happy times - kicking a ball together in the park, flying a kite on the beach and sitting nestled into his side as he read them vivid and wonderful stories. Yet all the time he was wholly aware of his father's pain in being separated from his daughter and heard his impassioned pleas on the telephone for an opportunity to visit her.

He continued to have periods of absence and while he made suitable arrangements for the times he was genuinely working, sometimes a week would go by without them having any idea when or even if he might return. Kieran would use the money from his paper round to buy them chips, or pretend to bargain with the greengrocer on behalf of Da. They taught themselves to cook and use the washing machine and while their father was in bed suffering the after effects of another binge, to steal money from his wallet so that they wouldn't be caught short when he next disappeared. _'You mustn't tell anyone, Tom'_, Kieran had warned. _'Not Mam, not your teacher, not your friends, or they'll tell their Mothers. We'll be put in a children's home, Tom. You don't want that, do you?'_ They kept their vow of silence throughout their childhood and Tom remains uncertain whether or not his mother would have tried to regain their custody had she been made aware of the truth. Her sisters didn't dare defy her declaration that her sons had made their choice and Da's family gradually abandoned him as his illness spiralled, unaware of the full responsibility he had for two of his children.

Their mother's courtship and marriage to David seemed unexpected at the time, although the reality was that they saw her so infrequently that they were unaware of the intricacies of her daily life. Their father sank into despair on discovering the news, although by that point, Kieran was twenty and Tom preparing to finish school, so their dependency on either parent was lessened. Another pregnancy so late in life seemed unlikely, but Amy's arrival cemented the complete dissolution of the first marriage and Margaret shifted her balance of favour to the daughter on whose father she felt she could rely.

Their father's decline was swift towards the end, his will to live seemed extinguished once he learned of his former wife's contentment with another man. Tom and Kieran cared for him as best they could, but he died in hospital aged 49 and Tom remembers them sitting shell-shocked in their living room, feeling abandoned and bereft. Once Tom secured his graduate training scheme at the paper, Kieran decided to move away to Liverpool, working as a mechanic with a former school friend and making an attempt to start afresh. To begin with he returned home sporadically, making efforts at reconciliation with their mother before her words of recrimination sent him back to England. It was only when he met his wife, Ali and was provided with insight into her loving, functional family, that he made the decision to sever ties entirely with his mother and his relationships with both Emma and Amy were shattered as a consequence.

Despite suggestions to the contrary from his brother, Tom has never been able to make such a defined break, nor wanted to face the unwelcome truth that he will never gain the approval and unconditional love from Margaret that he so desperately craves. She infuriates and wounds him in equal measure, but he can't help loving her regardless and still harbours distant dreams that he will one day appease her.

He's revisiting the accusation she laid on him this afternoon when he becomes aware that Sybil is holding his hand and her thumb is gently stroking his knuckles as she watches him intently. He's lost count of the number of whiskeys he's drunk while he has spilled his secrets, but he knows that she tried to match him in the beginning and can see the signs of intoxication in her eyes. He makes a firm attempt to focus on her face and repay her concern with an expression of appreciation. Not for the first time, he gives silent thanks for her appearance in his life, regardless of the distressing sequence of events which bind them. She's smiling at him, still stroking his hand and he instinctively matches the gesture by reaching up to caress her cheek. The opportunity to unburden himself has left him relaxed and unguarded and while he knows that he shouldn't consider their relationship as anything but platonic, he can't help but reflect on how attractive he finds her and how under different circumstances, he could fall wholeheartedly in love. She's edged a little closer to him on the sofa and through the soft haze of alcohol, he realises that he hasn't yet lowered his hand from her face. Through their silence, he recognises the meaning behind her expression and understands that his harboured feelings are not unrequited. Tom has had his share of beautiful women over the years, his natural good looks do not present a problem when attracting members of the opposite sex, although retaining any relationship over a lengthy period of time has to date been unachievable. Yet he feels astounded that this wonderful girl might want to be with him, could see him as anything but a dependable friend. He knows all the reasons why this wouldn't work, why it shouldn't even commence, but he's mesmerised by the promise held in her eyes, her unfaltering belief and admiration. Throughout his long, detailed explanation this evening, she has shown sympathy but no pity, and nothing she said in return substantiated his long-held belief that he is unworthy of such devotion. She's moving her head towards him now and he has only a fraction of a second in which he knows he should deflect her advance. Yet the temptation is too strong and as he leans to meet her, his lips finally meeting hers, he knows that he's already a lost cause.


	12. Chapter 12

_**I am not going to change the rating for this story because this is almost certainly a one-off, but readers should be aware that there is a scene of a sexual nature in this chapter. Some of you will appreciate that this was not an easy scene for me to write as I'm generally uncomfortable with such a level of detail! However, I do feel that the story as a whole will benefit from you knowing exactly what took place and I hope that it will help you to put subsequent chapters into perspective. Still blushing, even after several edits!**_

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Sybil can sense the hesitancy in his touch, his lips only lightly meeting hers and so ensures that he can have no reason to question her willingness and desire. Reaching around his neck, she weaves her fingers through his hair and draws him firmly towards her. There's only brief resistance and she soon feels the palm of his hand move from her cheek to her waist before it makes its way gently around to caress her spine. Her kisses are soft but fervent, she wants to erase the trauma of his day and make it clear that the strength of her emotions is a match for his mother's earlier cruel contempt. She's aware of her own intoxication, her inhibitions are lowered, yet her mind also now feels free from all previously held caution. Hearing Tom's tale of his parents' embittered marriage and the disregard shown to him by the person who should love him most in the world has served to illuminate Sybil's own feelings towards him. All of a sudden, conversation seems inadequate and she's overwhelmed by the passion she feels, impatient to prove his worth and make it clear that she wants to be free from the self-restraint they have up until now imposed.

Wishing to pre-empt any thoughts he may have about breaking off from their union, she adjusts her position on the sofa and slowly, yet deliberately moves her leg until she's straddling his lap. He tenses marginally, but she's able to swiftly disregard such a tentative response by cupping her hands around his cheeks and slipping her tongue deftly into his mouth. This seems to obtain the desired effect as his arms tightly wrap around her and the low groan she hears at the back of his throat is matched by the obvious stirring in his groin. He runs his fingers softly through her hair and although in general she doesn't enjoy people playing with her locks, he's so gentle and respectful that the gesture instils a tingle across her torso and she emits an unexpected sigh of gratification.

His mouth moves across her face, causing her to arch her back with pleasure as he caresses her neck, light kisses sending waves of desire through her body until she finds herself grinding rhythmically into his lap. She's the first to explore under their layers of clothing, her hands reaching up under his long sleeved shirt and stroking his back, initially slowly but reaching an increased level of urgency as he matches the gesture. Sybil is not sexually inexperienced, but nor does she offer her body lightly. However, she longs for the sensation of skin upon skin, yearning for their bodies to merge in an effort to wipe away Tom's pain. She spots the look of surprise in his eyes as she breaks away momentarily to tug at his shirt, but he lifts his arms in compliance and she notes a fleeting smile as she flings it more dramatically than intended over the back of the sofa. This time she doesn't wait for him to mirror her actions, tearing off her cardigan and lifting her pretty camisole vest over her head before dropping both to the floor.

Briefly they're motionless, each gazing at one another in silence before Tom's hands reach around to unclasp her bra and he gently cups one of her breasts.

"Oh Sybil" he mutters hoarsely before bending his head and taking a nipple in his mouth. She hears herself gasp with pleasure and writhes around while his tongue gently explores. Ripples of ecstasy travel through her body and she's desperate to wholly consume him, to destroy his lack of self-worth with her indisputable devotion. He's pushing her slowly down to a horizontal position, his mouth now teasing her other breast when, in a brief silence between her guttural breaths, she whispers in his ear.

"Come to bed with me." She doesn't want to do this here; for it to end in relative discomfort, with limbs dangling over the edge of the sofa and the inevitable conclusion of polite discourse as they then decide where to sleep. No such transition is ever seamless, but he curtails his progress at her words and she takes the opportunity to push herself up on her elbows and offer him a smile of such undoubting promise and certainty that he allows himself to be silently led into the bedroom and his remaining clothes to be swiftly discarded.

She's in charge once again, straddling him on her knees as she covers his neck and chest with urgent kisses, while reaching down and taking enjoyment from his obvious pleasure as she strokes his length. As she leans towards her bedside cabinet for a packet of condoms that had been long-ago purchased for a relationship which had never fulfilled its potential, she feels his hand gently slip between her legs and gives an involuntary jerk as he caresses her most sensitive area. A display of extended foreplay is not her priority on this occasion and although it would be very easy to lose herself in these sensations of rapture while he explores with his fingers, she retains an element of focus while unwrapping the condom and applying it with ease. Tom's eyes roll towards the back of his head in response to the sensation it provides, but as she rises and then slowly lowers herself on to him, their eyes meet and he whispers her name once again.

"Oh God, Tom" she says softly in response, leaning forward to firmly kiss his lips, before she sits back upright and strives to find a mutually agreeable rhythm. His eyes close and she throws her head back as she enjoys the sensations flowing through her body, one palm lying face down on his chest, while her other hand clutches his as he holds on to her hip. She feels the fingers on his free hand move to stroke her and cries out as a wave of pleasure overtakes her.

Just as she begins to think that this isn't going to take very long for either of them, he abruptly stops and begins to push himself up with his arms, until he can wrap one around her waist and hold her tightly while his lips revisit hers. With a smile, she returns the gesture with equal fervour and plays with the hair on the back of his neck, while gently caressing his nipple with her other hand. Slowly, she rises a little and tries to return to their previous motion, but he squeezes her tightly in an attempt to curtail her efforts. His lips are gentle but accomplished and his tongue explores her mouth so adeptly that she is can hear herself beginning to pant with longing. Yet he seems to have no desire to alter their position and continues to hold her tightly, preventing the resumption of their earlier activity. Sybil starts to lose herself in the sensation of simply kissing and yet, feeling Tom still hard inside her, it's without doubt the most erotic and sensual experience of her life. All of her nerve endings are tingling at his slightest touch and as his palm conducts a circular stroke close to her spine, she wonders if she might reach her peak without any further exploration.

She's unsure of how long they remain fastened in their embrace, but just as she feels herself on the verge of reaching the point of no return, he lowers himself slowly down on to his back and their eyes lock once again. Her insides seem to melt as he smiles at her and he grasps one of her hands as he rises into her and she instinctively moves to meet him. His fingers ensure that within seconds she's crying out with joy, revelling in the shudders of ecstasy which envelop her and aware of him joining her in mutual pleasure only moments later.

She collapses down on to his chest with a low moan and his palms encircle her head, his fingers locked in her hair as he pulls her towards him for another long and rewarding kiss. As she gently climbs off him, he winces a little and reaches down to remove the condom, holding it uncertainly above the duvet for a moment, before she takes it from him and drops it inelegantly on the floor. She doesn't want this feeling of conjoined contentment to end and an awkward bathroom trip might run the risk of derailing the process. No words are spoken as they lay side by side, legs entwined; in all honesty Sybil can't think of any verbal colloquy which could merit what has just taken place. He kisses her nose and she closes her eyes in appreciation of his gentle caress on her back. Gradually the sensation comes to a halt as she hears the slow, rhythmic sounds of his breath and realises that he has fallen asleep.

ooOoo

On awakening the following morning, she finds herself in her habitual position - curled in the foetal position on the right hand side of the bed, one hand tucked under her pillow – and a familiar ache between her legs. Her head is pounding and she's wholly aware of a sour taste of whiskey at the back of her tongue. Rolling slowly over and wincing at the slivers of sunlight which appear through the crack in the curtains, her mood is lightened at the sight of Tom sleeping soundly beside her. He's facing her, appearing peaceful and content and she takes a moment to affectionately admire his long eyelashes and strong definition of the lips with which she is now so intimately acquainted. Although she blushes at the recollection of elements of last night's events, she has no regrets at the step they've taken and is confident that it will only serve to strengthen their unity while the investigation into Emma's disappearance progresses. With a pleasant lustful twinge, she remembers how seamlessly they came together and the way in which their bodies moved together to provide mutual comfort and pleasure. Emboldened by thoughts of his previous reaction to her leading the proceedings, she's on the verge of reaching out to him and encouraging the start of a repeat performance. However, the throbbing in her head is taking precedence and besides, she wouldn't want to kiss herself with this current stale taste in her mouth.

Locked in the bathroom, she gratefully swallows two paracetemol tablets, drinks a large glass of water and brushes her teeth, slapping trickles of water on her pale, hungover complexion and trying to control her tresses which are sticking out in all manner of alarming directions. It's while she's sitting on the toilet that she hears the sound of movement and after donning her dressing gown and exiting, can't help but feel disappointed to see from afar that the covers are thrown back and her bed is now empty.

She finds him in the kitchen, his back towards the door, waiting for the kettle to boil. He's retrieved his t-shirt from behind the sofa as well as his jeans from her bedroom floor and stands bare-footed and utterly motionless.

"Morning" she says softly, leaning against the door frame and smiling indulgently at his image. She hears his brief intake of breath before he turns to her and her stomach lurches unpleasantly in anticipation of what she can tell he is about to say.

"I'm sorry…" he begins and she can't help but feel that this short phrase is utterly inadequate. "…that shouldn't have happened last night."

"I'm glad it did!" she declares, her chin rising in defiance. "I wanted it to!"

He breaks eye contact and busies himself with making tea and coffee, shaking his head during the process.

"It was very inappropriate, I was in a bad place yesterday and I took advantage of you."

An exasperated laugh escapes her lips. "I'm not a child!" she proclaims.

"I know, but we were too drunk to realise what we were doing." He continues to avoid her gaze, stirring the drinks rigorously and glancing out of the window.

"I knew exactly what I was doing, thank you very much. Don't include my state of mind in your misrepresentation of events!"

"Well it was wrong!" he snaps, his eyes suddenly flashing with emotion. "We're supposed to be concentrating on finding Emma, not fucking like rabbits in your bedroom!" She can't help but flinch at his choice of words and is certain that she spots an fleeting moment of shame in his expression as he turns away from her again, one hand holding on to the kitchen counter.

"It wasn't just _fucking_, Tom." She speaks quietly but firmly, emphasising the word she finds so unpleasant in the context of what has taken place. "It was more than just sex and I'm sure you know that. But if you want to deny what happened between us and make certain that it never happens again, then that's your decision."

Her insides are churning and she blinks rapidly to erase the tears of disappointment and hurt which are threatening to emerge, as she quickly moves back to her bedroom, picking up her own clothes en route and trying to busy herself with folding them. Her alcohol induced headache has disappeared, replaced instead by a sharp thump, combining incredulity and distress. In frustration, she grabs the clothes with both hands and flings them into her laundry basket, pushing them with force down to the bottom, as if trying to eradicate her own impression of the night's events. She wants to keep herself occupied, reluctant to allow him to witness an image of her pain and so pulls out a drawer from her chest, tipping out the contents on to the still rumpled duvet and trying to concentrate her mind on their rearrangement.

"I'm sorry if I've upset you, Sybil. It's really the last thing I wanted to do."

He's standing by her bedroom door, fingers tapping on the architrave, clearly feeling awkward at this exchange.

She clears her throat while pretending to concentrate on the items strewn across her bed, not trusting herself to make eye contact while nodding in acknowledgement of his words.

"You haven't upset me…" she replies "…you've _disappointed_ me!" and in an involuntary reaction, her penultimate word is almost spat with exasperation. "I thought you were stronger than your reaction implies."

She glances up to meet his gaze and almost immediately, he looks away with embarrassment.

"Well it's probably best that you're disappointed with me now, rather than later." he says softly and she's certain that she can hear an element of regret in his tone.

"I've never wanted to take anything away from Emma's investigation, you know." She has won't beg for him to reconsider, but neither will she allow him to leave without offering some explanation of her point of view.

"I shouldn't have suggested otherwise, you've been so supportive, I do appreciate that."

"And I want to continue to help you in whatever way I can."

"Thank you"

"But I don't think what happened last night deflects from her case."

"Well, I…" but she doesn't allow him to respond and continues to press forward with her clarification.

"It was never my intention to monopolise you in any way and I completely understand if you're not in a position to want to commit to any kind of formal relationship at the moment."

"Yes, that's wh…."

"But I think we're both fully aware that our friendship has developed into something more substantial over the last few weeks and if you want to deny it, then you're lying to yourself."

"Sybil, I can't…" He looks at her pleadingly for a moment, before turning away with a grimace, shaking his head, then swallowing deeply. When he returns to meet her steady scrutiny, his eyes present a steely glint and any hint of previous softening has now vanished.

"I'm very sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. It's entirely my fault."

"Don't say that!" she responds angrily, throwing down the piece of paper she's holding and glaring at him in defiance. "Walk away if you want, but don't refute what's happening here! Maybe now's not the right time for us, but in the future, when the case is solved…" Her declaration is open-ended; avoiding any firm commitment, but ripe for his potentially mitigating response.

"You don't want to get into a relationship with me, Sybil." he says coldly and she feels the final embers of hope extinguish.

"Well I think I should be the judge of that." It's said firmly, but without any hint of further anticipation. She won't allow him to pass off his opinion as her own, regardless of its inevitable conclusion. He is looking down at the floor, his hand still resting on the doorframe and she hears the ghost of an audible sigh.

"I'm sorry Sybil. I really am. I'll be in touch about the case." Seconds later she hears the soft click of the front door closing and understands that he has gone.

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_**Presses 'Post New Chapter' and ducks for cover….**_


	13. Chapter 13

**_Thank you for all your positive comments about the last chapter, they were a pleasant surprise! I'm going on holiday shortly so there won't be a chapter next week, but I hope to be back writing the following week._**

**_Many thanks to MMT-VB for her beta help once again._**

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He doesn't look back, fearful that she might be watching from the window and that his resolve will falter at the sight of her. He feels sick with self-loathing, having plied her with alcohol and then taken advantage of her, allowing his sob-story to manipulate her spirits and enhance any feelings she has towards him. Not only has he desecrated his dual vows to behave appropriately with Sybil and to focus solely on Emma's disappearance; he's staggered directly into the willing arms of his most seductive vices – intoxication and sex – which, as Amanda so pertinently observed, are usually entwined.

The blame is entirely his own, allowing his infatuation with Sybil to spill over and taint the help and friendship that she has offered over the past weeks, without having made any reciprocal demands. He saw the indications of desire in her steadfast gaze directly before they kissed and the confident use of her mouth and body proved subsequent physical longing, yet he can't accept her wish to enter into a relationship with him. He needs her strong-minded support and co-operation over the coming weeks, or god-forbid months, as they try to find a resolution to Emma's case. Every relationship he has ever entered into has ended in failure and he has no reason to believe that this would be any different. The thought of infecting her vibrant and compassionate personality with his weaknesses and ill-temper is horrifying.

Yet as he reflects, he can still sense her scent and can't help but think of her lithe, soft body as it moulded to his, briefly driving away his demons. He can suddenly see her smiling down at him with such tenderness while they were making love and fleetingly has a horrifying sensation of tears beginning to prick. Before any passerby can catch him crying, he swipes his arm angrily across his face. He's appalled by the way he offended her this morning. _Fucked like rabbits – _such a crude and inaccurate way to describe what they'd done! But he'd needed to halt her counter argument before he succumbed to his desire to just take her into his arms once again.

The only issue with which they are in agreement is that it hadn't been simply sex; in all honesty he knows that. During the act itself, he'd been overcome by the strength of his emotions and wanted to savour every moment. Sybil had seemed in a hurry to conclude but he'd tried to slow things down, to return to the earlier stages of kisses and sensual embraces, albeit their bodies were already by that point conjoined. Eventually, the pressure of leaning on one arm had been too painful, so he laid back and basked in the sight and the sensation of her moving over him again. The intensity of their climax left him breathless and overwhelmed until she had leant down for one last lingering, reassuring kiss.

Reaching Kennington tube station, he shakes himself out of his self-absorbed stupor and reaches into a pocket for his Oyster card. His fingers touch on his cigarette packet and he recollects how she allowed him to smoke in her flat and that the living room is now tainted with the sickening smell of its after-effects. In a dramatic gesture, he flings the packet into a nearby litter bin and strides angrily through the ticket barrier, before cringing in self-contempt at the gesture. It's not the first time that he's vowed to quit in such a theatrical act and his cravings usually soon overwhelm any good intentions he may have. In reality he knows that before the day is out, he'll buy himself some more and he hates himself for displaying such predictable weakness.

ooOoo

He begins to communicate with Sybil by email, unable to bear the idea of hearing disappointment in her voice over the telephone and unwilling to meet with her while each of their emotions are exposed and raw. Although he plies his trade with words, he struggles to find an adequate tone and is aware that he is coming across as oddly formal. Only a concluding sentence offers any hint that their relationship is in any way personal. _'I hope you are well'_, although he knows that it's derisory given what has taken place.

In sharp contrast, Sybil's replies are familiar and chatty, giving no hint of their recent romantic entanglement, nor making any consequential demands. He's grateful that she's maintaining such an upbeat façade, even though he knows that he must have left her feeling hurt and confused, so appreciates that she's prepared to maintain contact in any form.

She refers to a recent magazine article about Emma's disappearance, accompanied by a photo taken outside her flat and pokes fun at its inclusion. _'Bugger - I don't think they captured my best side!'_. The following week, she describes the drunken advances of a young man in A&E who recognised her from the papers and having already fractured his nose during a night out, then broke his arm as he stumbled across the waiting room to enthusiastically greet her. Tom can imagine her reciting it in person, she's an accomplished mimic and would revel in the exaggerated actions and misguided declarations. Despite his own on-going battle with alcohol, he can't help but smile at her comical description and his heart stirs in contemplation.

She persists in her declaration to assist him in any way she can and he wonders if inadvertently she's trying to arrange a meeting, although she makes no such pertinent request. He has to travel to Glasgow for a few days in order to cover the trial of an Irish national and so asks her to maintain Emma's website while he's away, although in reality there's very little activity. His sister's case appears to have disappeared off the public's radar. She's been missing for two months and yet they are no closer to discovering the truth than when she first failed to return home.

Then Amanda rings him to let him know that Emma's affair with the Irish politician has been made public and she has no alternative but to file a report in line with all the other newspapers on both sides of the Irish Sea. He's incandescent with rage and immediately telephones Fionnula Kennedy, berating her with such ferocity over her duplicity that she bursts into tears, managing only to deny any guilt before cutting the call and immediately blocking his number. He's subsequently filled with remorse when Dawn Pulliver admits her suspicions that the leak was internal and assures him that they are doing their best to track down the culprit. The damage, however, is already in place and the Irish press in particular are rife with speculation about the likely candidate. Statements are hastily provided from those under discussion, including one from a thirty-something Junior Minister who Tom knows for a fact is gay. Nevertheless, there remain seven possible contenders, all of whom claim never to have met his sister and emphasise their loyal fidelity to supportive wives.

Dawn releases a statement in which she confirms that both the Metropolitan Police and the Garda are investigating whether or not the information has any bearing on Emma's disappearance and that they are looking into the possibility of additional relationships with married or committed men. It's the first public confirmation of such suspicion, although the press have long speculated on the ownership of the two Pay As You Go phones which Emma frequently contacted in the months prior to going missing. Dawn makes a specific plea for any man with whom Emma has been intimately acquainted in the last three years to come forward in order to eliminate themselves from the enquiry, promising anonymity for those who are innocent of any crime.

Emma's reputation is cemented as a mistress and a harlot and the website is once again inundated with contemptuous and derogatory comments. Tom's relieved that it's taken place after his return from Glasgow and that Sybil doesn't have to deal with the subsequent fallout. She is inevitably concerned however, emailing him about the reports she reads and asking how he is faring. There's a brief mention of journalists hanging around her flat again, asking for her reaction and he instinctively wants to travel down to Kennington and demand that they leave her alone. Yet he has no power to do so, nor any right to act in such a proprietorial manner after he has behaved so dishonourably and he scorns his feeble mental efforts at gallantry.

He has abandoned his vow not to drink alone, no longer retaining any pretence about the declaration when he doesn't see Sybil. She has never challenged him about his attempts to cut back, but her physical presence in his life provided a form of guidance for a while and she unknowingly acted as a beacon within the ocean of his long-held vices and failings.

His mother rings him in distress, behaving as if their recent altercation had never taken place and berating the impact of Emma's love life on her own reputation within the community. He has learned that there is very little that he needs to say in return, clearly she has exhausted the topic with her husband and simply needs another sounding board on which to vent her fury and embarrassment. The pain he feels at his banishment from her house has not diminished, yet it seems to no longer remain in place as she blithely enquires whether or not he'll be coming home for Christmas. Even after thirty four years as her son, he remains astonished at her egotism and lack of empathy. Previously he has taken similar requests as an indication of maternal longing and desire for reconciliation, but such a blinkered reaction has now been swept aside and he is certain that she only wants to present another show of family unity to the neighbourhood.

Kieran chooses to ring him on the wrong evening. Tom's hungover and filled with self-loathing after over indulging the previous evening, has struggled with a deadline for tomorrow's edition and is dealing with a particularly persistent and vitriolic contributor to Emma's website, the details of which he has felt obliged to pass over to the police. He feels despondent and stressed, so doesn't respond positively to his brother's jovial demands that they re-arrange their weekend together.

"I can offer you next weekend or the first one in December…" Kieran announces cheerfully "…then it's all nativity plays and Christmas parties. Once they start school, it's another ballgame, I'm telling you. Sophia has a better social life than me!"

"I can't commit to either of those dates." Tom replies irritably, knowing full well that he can and not comprehending his reasons for resisting.

"Well can you let me know nearer the time, maybe? And what are you doing for Christmas? You know you're welcome here don't you, if you're not going to Dublin?"

"I don't know, it's all up in the air at the moment." He has already decided that he won't return to Ireland for the festive season, but can't face the thought of observing Kieran's happy family dynamics, which will only serve to emphasise his own increasing isolation.

"We've been invited to Ali's parents for Christmas lunch, but you know that you'd be welcome as well." There's no doubting the sincerity of this statement, he's met his sister-in-law's family at their wedding and the children's christenings and is certain that his presence would be met with only heartfelt hospitality.

"I'm not sure."

His brother sighs loudly and Tom's defences are raised. "Look, I've got a lot on down here at the moment, OK? I can't just abandon everything at the drop of a hat to fit in around your kids' schedules!"

Kieran knows him too well to be offended by such petulance, but he's frustrated nonetheless.

"Tom, we need to get together and talk. Honestly, you're doing everything on your own for Emma and I'd like to help you."

"There's nothing you can do." Tom snaps, wanting desperately to curtail the call and begin afresh another day.

"I feel really guilty…about everything, I guess…I should have made an effort to contact her again once she'd left home, it wasn't her fault…"

"…well it's fuck all use saying that now, isn't it?" He doesn't want to have this conversation now; to listen to Kieran's reflection of self-reproach and culpability, when he continues to deal with his own.

"Well I'd like to think that I might have an opportunity to try and make up for it in the future."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" he roars, no longer able to exercise any form self-restraint. "You didn't give a shit about her for years, so please save me your act of contrition now, I can't fucking bear it!"

He hears the gentle click to confirm that his brother has hung up and leans back on his chair as he closes his eyes, exasperated at himself for alienating yet another member of his family. Kieran won't abandon him entirely, they've been through too much together over the years and have fallen out both at a distance and face-to-face on previous occasions. He'll vent his frustration and fury at his long-suffering wife, who remains bewildered by the Branson family dynamics and mystified at how her husband cares so much for a brother she has met so infrequently. Eventually one of them will telephone the other and they'll pretend that this conversation has never taken place, before resuming half-hearted attempts to fix a date and venue to meet up. They are indelibly bound by blood and circumstance, yet their paths have taken such wholly different routes and Tom is left to contemplate the poor decisions he has made along the way, ensuing only in overwhelming dissatisfaction.

ooOoo

Sybil wants to meet up with him. A festive pizza is proposed for the week before Christmas – _'No strings, just as friends. I've missed talking to you!'_ He's torn between twin desires of avoidance and curiosity, but decides that it's the first time she's ever truly asked him to do something for her and therefore agrees with trepidation. When he'd left her flat almost a month ago, he'd vowed to keep his distance for only a short period of time before making an effort to restore a platonic friendship. However as time has progressed, it's felt increasingly difficult to face her in light of his shameful behaviour. He thinks about her daily of course, a constant battle wavering between regret and resolve. Looking at his bloodshot eyes and mottled complexion in the mirror before he departs, the consequence of poor eating habits and frequent alcoholic over-indulgence, he can't help but convince himself that she will be relieved at the decision he made on their behalf and that he has spared her the burden of an ill-fated affair.

He buys her a Christmas present, feeling certain that she will have made a reciprocal gesture. It's a black and white framed photo of the Thames skyline, with St. Thomas' hospital appearing in the background. He agonises for ages over what to write on the card, attempting to tread a cautious line between friendship and affection. _'Saw this and thought you might like it. Thank you for all your help. Happy Christmas. Tom x'_. It by no means compensates for his recent withdrawal from her life, but he hopes it provides a message that she remains an important element in his.

Amy emails him a photograph of her school production and he makes a concerted effort to reply in an upbeat and congratulatory manner. She sends him a copy of the programme and spurred by her efforts, he buys her a Christmas present for the first time in years, a collection of Arthur Miller plays. Then feeling that it might appear too earnest a gift for a teenage girl, albeit one who wishes to become an actress, he spots a beaded and glittery heart hanging on a ribbon in a local gift shop and includes that in his parcel. He buys his mother one of the romantic novels from a bygone era that she so favours, knowing that she'll chastise him for the extravagant cost of a new hardback, but ensuring that it will be one she hasn't yet read. Then feeling rewarded by his small efforts at strengthening the relationship with his half-sibling, he purchases toys for Kieran's children and sends them with a note, avoiding any mention of their recent argument, but promising to visit in the New Year.

His heart gives an uncomfortable lurch as Sybil first enters the pizzeria. She's come directly from work and looks tired, but in his eyes remains beautiful nonetheless. They each offer polite, chaste kisses to the cheek and he spots her expression of hesitancy as she sits down, clearing her throat and flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder in order to bolster her confidence towards a potentially stilted conversation.

"How's work?" he offers "Full of drunken revellers, I guess?"

She gives a roll of her eyes and nods. "At least they're generally good natured at this time of year. It's manic though, we're desperately under staffed. I've worked the last three weekends, which isn't supposed to happen, but what can you do?"

It's a rhetorical question, but he answers it regardless. "You could refuse?"

"They're desperate and it's not as if I actually have a valid reason not to work them."

"Still not going out much?"

She shakes her head. "You?"

"Not a lot, no. I've been doing some extra work, keeping busy. Got a few additional features published."

"Yes, I saw that piece you did on the Porsche Museum in Stuttgart. I enjoyed it, especially having been there with you."

She's perusing the menu and therefore doesn't spot his look of surprise.

"Are you reading the _Herald_ now?"

"Oh." She shrugs in half-hearted embarrassment. "Well your stuff anyway. I've got this app on my phone, it tells you when a particular journalist has published another article, so you can look it up."

He can't help but smile in gratitude at her allegiance, but she appears awkward at the admission. "I'm not only following you…" she hastily explains "…um, I follow Robert Fisk in _The Independent_, Hadley Freeman in _The Guardian_…"

"Well I'm in illustrious company then!" he concedes with another smile and is rewarded by her gratified beam.

"You're very good, you know. I'm not just saying that because you're my friend…" He's relieved to learn that she still considers that description to be appropriate. "…but I genuinely enjoy the way you write. I mean, Emma always told me that you were very talented but I'm afraid that I didn't really take too much notice."

"Why would you have done?"

She gives a light sigh of regret. "Because she was supposed to be my friend and I should have taken more of an interest."

"Well that's you and me both." For a moment at least, they are united in mutual remorse, until the atmosphere mutates into something more dangerously charged and she swiftly changes the subject.

"What are you doing for Christmas? You're not going to Dublin, are you?"

"No. Why do you say it like that?"

"Because of what your mother said to you when you were last there!"

"She wants me home, but I'm not going. I can't face it, to be honest. I haven't fully forgiven her yet."

"She doesn't deserve to be forgiven in my opinion."

"She's still my Mam and her daughter's missing. But she can have a quiet one with David and Amy this year." He's so used to excusing Margaret for her faults and incomprehensible behaviour that, despite the hurt and distress she's recently caused, he is unable to break the habit.

"I know, but still…." Sybil's disdain is clear from her pursed lips and sharp inhale of breath, but she doesn't press her opinions. "So will you go to Liverpool instead?"

"Um…probably not, no."

"Then what are you going to do?" She's looking at him with growing concern and his mind races to come up with a suitable response. He has no doubt that if she discovers he plans to spend the festive season alone, she'll invite him to spend it with her and he can neither face her disappointment at his refusal, nor contemplate the consequences of accepting such an offer.

"I'll be working a lot, so I'm just going to spend it with some friends locally. All very low key this year, which suits me fine under the circumstances." She doesn't look convinced, but any further questioning is contained. "What about you, are you going up to Yorkshire?"

She nods slowly. "I'm working on Christmas Eve until late, but I'll drive up and then come back down Boxing Day evening, because I've only got two days off."

"I didn't know you even had a car."

"I don't, I'm hiring one. I won't be able to get a train after my shift ends on Christmas Eve, so it's the only way."

"A fleeting visit then?"

"Yes, but it'll be lovely to be home. I haven't been there since the summer, it's the longest I've ever been away."

"And will both of your sisters be there?"

"Yes, I can't wait to see them. I've decided that I'm going to make much more of an effort in the New Year to go and visit them. I can't stay at home for ever and while there's nothing more happening in the search for Emma…" she tails off awkwardly and avoids eye contact.

"We might never find her you know." It's an admission that he's never previously voiced, finding the truth so unpalatable. Sybil swallows and twists an empty wine glass around with her index finger and thumb, appearing to give his confession full contemplation. Eventually their eyes meet and she nods, before hastily glancing away.

"I know" she adds quietly and seems so instantly melancholy that the desire to jump up and take her in his arms is overwhelming. Instead however, he clears his throat and continues to voice aloud the thoughts about his sister's disappearance which have been hovering in his mind, relieved to have an opportunity to divest and share.

"I think there are three options. One is that it will be resolved one way or another, which remains a possibility, but with each week that passes, a diminishing one." She nods encouragingly before he continues. "Two is that she chose to disappear and has achieved it brilliantly, making sure that nobody will ever find her. Given the few facts we have about the day she left, I'd say that the chances of that are minimal. And three…" he pauses for a moment and steals a glance to confirm that Sybil continues to observe him as he speaks. "…is that she's been murdered and her body will never be found, so we'll never know."

Her response is uttered in haste and surprises him. "Do you feel that the not knowing is worse than the possibility of her eventual death?" He isn't sure whether or not this is some kind of test, but it's a valid question and one with which he has wrestled in recent days.

"For me, yes…" he admits "…but that's a very selfish opinion isn't it? I mean she might be alive somewhere, so I'm wishing for her death, simply so that I can have a sense of closure."

Sybil shakes her head. "I think it's a very honest opinion actually and I'm relieved to hear you say it, because mine is similar and I've been rather tortured by the concept."

Their contemplation is interrupted by a waiter taking their order, but Sybil returns to their train of thought immediately afterwards.

"It's a natural opinion surely, after so much time has elapsed?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Well it's only been three months. I mean, people are sometimes in limbo for years, not knowing."

"The thought of that is unbearable."

"Yes."

She takes a short intake of breath and prepares to speak, abruptly changing her mind and then swallowing sharply before fiddling with her fork and staring at the wall.

"At what point do you think we have to make the decision to carry on with our lives again?"

"Well we already are, to a certain extent. I mean, I didn't work for three weeks but then I went back, so I guess you could say that was the point."

"Well work's a necessity isn't it? I don't so much mean that."

He knows exactly what she means, but is unable to address it. She wants some form of verbal commitment from him; a confirmation that he'll one day be free from his self-imposed dedication to the case and in a position to at least consider the possibility of their romantic attachment. Wrestling with his emotions, his instinctive reaction is to swiftly eradicate the notion and it would be easy to achieve with sharp words and a hasty rebuff. Yet he's touched by the concept that she hasn't given up on him. Despite his ungallant behaviour and the indisputable hurt caused by his rejection, she hasn't cast off her affections and is resolute in her gentle pursuit. He can't remember being on the receiving end of such steadfast devotion from anyone except his Da and the comparison is oddly comforting. She's watching him patiently with a pensive smile, trying not to appear too invasive with her questioning but yearning for an answer nonetheless.

"I don't know Sybil. We'll just have to see." And for the time being, that's all he can offer.


	14. Chapter 14

Sybil drives to Yorkshire through the night on Christmas Eve, able to take advantage of the clear roads and unusually swift journey time. The long drive offers her an opportunity for quiet contemplation – about Emma, her family, her job and of course Tom. In the six and a half weeks since he left her bed and dismissed any notion of a possible relationship with her, she has spent a great deal of time reflecting on the disappointing outcome and bitterly regrets the way in which she first responded to his rejection.

As part of her instinctive efforts to build a wall of self-defence, she expressed herself cruelly and her accusations were poorly judged. _'Disappointed'_ – it was probably the most inappropriate word she could have ever used, after hearing how he has spent his entire life dealing with his mother's disillusionment and knowing now how it has affected every other relationship during his life. And _'I thought you were stronger…'_ was equally unnecessary, bearing in mind the strength he has shown in shouldering the burden of Emma's investigation without any effective assistance from other members of his family. In a desperate effort to conceal the extent of her distress that morning, she succeeded only in reiterating his low feelings of self-worth and pushing him further away.

Tonight, she tries not to dwell on their sexual experience. She has frequently recalled the way he held and caressed her whilst remaining simultaneously inside her, his tongue softly stroking hers as it explored her mouth, his fingers gently teasing her breast. At the time, his actions had seemed to provide a declaration of promise and his subsequent denial of what had taken place only further emphasises her loss.

To begin with she didn't believe his painful dismissal of the experience and was certain that his feelings equalled hers. She was adamant that he cared for her and only shied away from a commitment because of a desire to focus solely on Emma's disappearance. Subsequently she has reflected further on his fractured relationship with his mother and the subsequent effect it must have had in his dealings with other people, particularly with other women. _'You don't want to get into a relationship with me, Sybil'_ he had said wearily and she hopes that he's trying only to protect her in some way, rather than making her face the unwelcome truth that he specifically doesn't want to be with her.

As the weeks passed, his communication remained formal and in writing and she began to cast doubt on the strength of her own beliefs, wondering if she had misread his signals - the curious sideway glances, their increasingly tactile behaviour with one another, his frequent appearances at her flat. It's been easier, in some ways, to reply in a more positive manner when all of their contact has been in a written form. He has no idea about the way she wrestles with each email, re-reading and editing it until the tone is suitably objective and cheerful. He cannot accuse her of any querulous behaviour in the light of what took place and she hopes that it has been sufficient to avoid driving him further away.

Finally they met again last week and she'd vowed to respond fittingly, not putting any pressure on him but reassessing his reaction towards her. If he had appeared aloof or in any way disinterested, she would have accepted his decision to simply remain friends without any further attempts to dissuade otherwise. Yet once again there is now a certainty in her mind that she is not mistaken; that his reasons for their estrangement are connected to other factors and do not relate directly to his feelings towards her. An intense stare which had been quickly curtailed as she met it head on, his obvious delight that she's following his articles on-line, their mutual understanding at the dilemma concerning Emma's case being potentially unresolved – all of these led her to believe that she has a reason not to give up. Her subtle attempt at questioning _'At what point do you think we have to make the decision to carry on with our lives again?'_ had at least not resulted in resolute rejection. There was no attempt at promise or declaration, but she had walked away with the belief that she can retain at least an element of hope. In time he might understand that desire and passion can be successfully entwined with friendship and support and that ultimately he deserves to be rewarded with them all.

ooOoo

She arrives at Downton shortly after 2am and lovingly chastises her mother for having stayed up to greet her. They chat briefly about nothing of consequence while Sybil begins to relax after over four hours at the wheel and drinks a welcoming mug of steaming hot chocolate. Going upstairs wearily to her room, she can't help but smile indulgently at the sight of a bulging stocking at the foot of her bed. She's woken shortly after nine by both sisters, who knock tentatively on her door and on hearing muffled signs of life, enter with unbridled enthusiasm and then clamber into bed on either side of her, a lifelong tradition on Christmas morning while they open their stockings.

The day passes in a flurry of activity and contentment and Sybil is delighted to spend time with everyone. This year they are joined by their paternal grandmother, Mary's fiancé Matthew and his widowed mother, Isobel and there are plenty of strong personalities within the party to provide amusement and competition in equal measure. With a morning visit to church, a neighbour's drinks party, their late and convivial family dinner and then the traditional exchange of presents, it's early evening before Sybil has an opportunity to go to her room for a short while and finally open her present from Tom. She has packed it in her suitcase, but had no desire to add it to the pile of gifts under the tree, wanting to keep their friendship away from the curious eyes of her family and to ensure that her emotions remain hidden. She's bought him a book on the history of the German car industry, which she found in a delightful niche bookshop on Charing Cross Road and a fountain pen, after he'd mentioned in an email that he'd lost his during his recent visit to Glasgow.

She adores the print he's given her and immediately deliberates as to where exactly to hang it in her living room. Holding the card which accompanied it, she can't help but analyse his message, although she knows deep down that it's a futile exercise. Does the kiss after his name mean anything, or is it simply another example of its ubiquitous use amongst anyone with whom one is only casually acquainted? Did he only think of her when he first saw the print, or does that mean she is regularly in his thoughts? Is this simply a way in which to thank her for her assistance in Emma's case, or is it a declaration of feelings which extend beyond friendship? She's sceptical of his declared intention to spend Christmas with unnamed friends and is fearful that he's spent the day alone, dwelling on his isolation and brooding over the fractured relationships with members of his family. However, it was clear by the firm way in which he delivered the explanation of his plans that he did not want to be challenged and she had avoided further questioning in order not to antagonise him.

Impulsively she sends him a text, emboldened by lunchtime drinks and a fine selection of accompanying wines during dinner. **Love my picture, thank you so much! Hope you've had a good day. Happy Christmas – Sybil xx** The second kiss is deliberate and she wonders how its implication will be perceived. There's still time to freshen up before she is missed downstairs but as before she reaches the door to her en-suite bathroom, her phone beeps and she eagerly reaches for it.

**On page 96 of my book already and the pen is perfect. I promise not to lose this one! Thank you and Happy Christmas. Tom xx**

Her heart begins to beat more rapidly, although she's worried about how he's managed to find time to read so dedicatedly when he's supposedly spending the day amongst company. The temptation to reply immediately is overwhelming, it would be easy to correspond all evening and try to orchestrate a meeting when she returns to London, but she realises in time that her imagination is running wild and that her efforts could equally be abruptly spurned. Instead she reluctantly leaves the phone on her bed, makes her way into the bathroom and begins preparations for the festive evening ahead.

ooOoo

The following morning, she's tidying away the breakfast dishes for her mother when Mary enters the kitchen and offers a beaming smile.

"Can I have you to myself for a couple of hours this morning and take you over to the Abbey so I can bore you with my wedding preparations?"

Sybil grins at her sister. "I do know the building inside out and backwards, you know! You can just tell me all about your plans from here, I don't need to mingle with the throngs of visitors. Although no, of course you won't bore me, I can't wait to hear more about it all!"

"Aha!" declares Mary, fishing a set of keys out of her pocket and waving them triumphantly in the air. "It's still closed to the public today so we can play at being daughters of the Earl in residence!" Sybil rolls her eyes and Mary pulls a face in response. "Come on, humour me!"

"What about Edith?" Sybil enquires, but Mary shakes her head.

"I just want a bit of time on my own with my favourite sister…"

"Mary…" Sybil warns. She would never offer such deliberate favouritism towards either of her siblings, regardless of their childhood history. She loves them both equally and is able to weigh up their merits and faults without partiality.

"Honestly, she's fine. She's taught Isobel how to play Angry Birds on her iPad and it's getting quite competitive. Believe me, you don't want to disturb them."

"And Matthew?"

"Reading the book you bought him on our bed. He's just waved me off quite dismissively, I doubt he'll surface before lunchtime."

"Is Granny coming over this morning?" Sybil can't bear the thought that anybody might feel in any way excluded by their absence, but Mary assures her that their grandmother will arrive in time for lunch, while their parents are planning to take the family dog for a walk and make the most of the crisp, clear morning.

So the two sisters put on their boots and enjoy a stroll through the village and up the long, sweeping drive to their former ancestral home, pausing as they always do to enjoy its majestic view as the imposing towers appear to twinkle in the sunlight.

Sybil adopts an American accent and mimics their mother. "All those rooms would be such a pain in the ass to dust."

Mary deepens her voice in an attempt to provide a recognisable impression of their father. "And the windows a bugger to keep clean!" and they giggle simultaneously in affection at their parents' frequent and audible relief at being spared the burden of responsibility for the estate.

Mary swiftly punches in the code for the alarm after unlocking the door before firmly shutting it behind them. She marches into the cavernous hallway, giving her sister a devious grin before holding out her arms and shouting "One day when my cunning plan succeeds, all this will be rightfully MINE!" and concluding with a villainous laugh that would be at home in any Hollywood film. Sybil begins to chuckle and Mary joins in, before providing an exaggerated pout, stamping her foot and declaring "It's just not fair!" The pair saunter around the ground floor while Mary points out her plans for the wedding ceremony and reception, asking her sister's opinion on seating plans and floral decorations before they find themselves in the library, Sybil's favourite room in the entire building. The impressive collection of books that their now deceased relatives had built up remains intact – their grandfather had removed only a few personal favourites before the sale – and Sybil has spent many a contented hour over the years pouring over its contents.

She sits comfortably on a nearby chaise-lounge and watches with curiosity as Mary walks over to the vast fireplace and rings a little bell which sits on top of the mantelpiece.

"What are you doing?" Sybil asks with a smile, stopping abruptly as her sister places a finger to her lips.

"Shhhh….can you hear that?" she asks and Sybil shakes her head in bewilderment.

"It's the ghost of butlers past!" Mary laughs, cocking her head to one side with a grin. "I thought we might rouse them, being Christmas and all that…maybe they would bring us tea and scones or something."

"But alas, no!" Sybil replies, continuing to be amused by her sister's wistful antics.

Mary sits down with an exaggerated sigh. "Ah well, we'll have to make do with sharing this carton of apple juice then" and she pulls one out of her bag, punching through the straw and offering her sister a first taste.

"So how's things with you?" she asks after Sybil hands the carton back.

Sybil shrugs her shoulders in a nonchalant manner. "You know…much the same. Work's been very busy so that's taken my mind of it all a bit. It's all just so sad really, I'm not sure that she'll ever be found."

"Do you think she's still alive?" Mary asks the question gently, not wanting to cause any additional distress.

"I don't know, it remains possible. It's also very probable that she isn't. The not knowing either way is fairly agonising."

"Have the police got anything else still to follow up?"

"No, not unless any new evidence comes to light. They're planning another press conference in the New Year to try and get the case back into the spotlight again."

"And what about Tom? You haven't mentioned him for a while."

Sybil avoids eye contact deliberately, shaking her head and scratching at a non-existent itch on her leg.

"I haven't seen much of him recently, that's why. There's not been much for us to discuss."

"Has something happened between the two of you?"

There's a pause while Sybil gathers her thoughts, but as she looks up into her sister's concerned but knowing gaze, she realises that any deliberate dishonesty is futile. Mary tips her head and offers a compassionate smile while Sybil begins to provide an edited version of what has taken place.

"Well he certainly sounds very complicated, Sybil."

She knows that Mary is not being directly critical in her assessment, but feels instinctively defensive nonetheless. Tom's confidences to her and a sense of overriding loyalty means that she has withheld much of the detail about his parents' marriage, only briefly alluding to their divorce, his father's death and the siblings' separation from one another. "He's had a lot to contend with in his life. Both in his childhood and also in the last few months."

"You don't say!"

"I think he's trying to protect me, in fact I'm positive that's what he's doing."

"And if you were wrong?"

"Then I'd walk away, I really would. I'm not a narcissist, I wouldn't hang around for someone who has no interest in me whatsoever."

"Well I hope he's worth it. All that built up insecurity and self-loathing - he won't be an easy man to be with."

Sybil smiles shyly. "I think he _is_ worth it. His good qualities far outshine his problems. He's kind and loyal, protective and thoughtful, he makes me laugh a lot despite all the stress he's been under. We've got a similar sense of humour, the same overall outlook about life even if we might approach it in different ways." She pauses and looks away in contemplation. "Anyway, I'm….oh, I don't know how to explain it."

"You're in love with him." Mary responds in such a matter-of-fact manner that Sybil is momentarily thrown by the statement. Her mind goes blank and she gradually becomes aware that her mouth is open in what her grandmother would consider a most ungainly manner.

"I don't think I'm in love with him, no…not yet." She shakes her head in order to reorder her thoughts. "But I probably would be pretty quickly if he would give us a chance. I'm infatuated with him, that's for sure. Besotted maybe." She gives her sister a quick grin. "Does that satisfy you?"

"Well I certainly haven't seen you quite this love sick since Elliott Pheby kissed Katie Borton at your Year 11 prom."

Sybil makes a face. "Ugh, well she was so horrid and bitchy. I couldn't believe he fancied her!"

"Are you still upset about it, nine years later?" Mary arches an eyebrow, matched with an amused smile, watching as her sister laughs lightly and shakes her head.

"I think I'm over it now."

Mary readjusts her position on the sofa and carefully crosses her legs, before clearing her throat. "I could tell there was something between you and Tom quite early on."

"Yes, I know. You said as much some time ago. I think I was in denial at the time. It felt as if Emma should be our main priority at that point and that it was somehow wrong to cross the invisible line."

"And you think he still believes that?"

Sybil gives an exasperated sigh. "Yes. But now it's been over three months and I just don't know how long we are supposed to keep our lives on hold." She scratches the arm of the sofa as she struggles to express herself in an adequate fashion. "I don't want to sound uncaring or lacking in sympathy or anything. I mean, obviously she's his sister and the whole thing is more emotionally distressing for him than for me who had only known her for a few months. But the fact is that they didn't see much of one another and I know he regrets that, but it's as if he wants to punish himself."

Mary sighs and rolls her eyes in clear frustration. "He's allowed to be happy. It wouldn't deflect from how much he cares about Emma and is still committed to helping find her."

"Exactly!" Sybil balls up her fist and drops it down hard on the edge of the sofa in order to emphasise her agreement before her sister continues.

"For argument's sake, let's say that he had seen a bit more of Emma before she disappeared, and you and he were already an item as a result. Would he have dumped you because he had to focus solely on the investigation?"

Sybil has never contemplated this scenario and shrugs her shoulders.

"Of course he wouldn't!" Mary continues. "He'd have accepted your support and been grateful for it, I should imagine. The idea that one isn't allowed to have a relationship while a crisis occurs is ludicrous! All sorts of terrible things happen to people and often it's having the support of a partner which helps them get through it."

"You're right" Sybil agrees and can't help but be amused by Mary's confident nod of response.

"I know. He's just using it as an excuse, in my opinion. He's scared of entering a relationship with you because he's worried that it might not work out and so he's using his sister's disappearance to justify his decision."

Sybil gnaws on her lower lip and begins to scratch on the sofa arm once again as she considers Tom's possible opposing viewpoint. "Well perhaps he'd just prefer to be sure that he keeps me as a friend, rather than risk losing that if the relationship went wrong."

"Well then he shouldn't have gone to bed with you, should he? He's already crossed the line Sybil, you're never going to be able to remain _'just friends'_ in the long term. Not when you clearly both have feelings for one another. It's going to go one way or another in time. Either you get together or you're going to part entirely, it's inevitable. Anyway, we all have to take risks when we enter a relationship. Nobody ever wants to get hurt, but the prospect of potential happiness makes it worth the gamble."

"I can't bear the thought of losing him completely." Sybil replies, feeling instantly miserable at the possibility.

"Then you have to tell him how you feel." Mary replies authoritatively and Sybil places her hands over her eyes in frustration.

"But I have, Mary! I already did and he walked away."

Her sister offers a look mixed with pity and affection, before replying in a gentler tone. "That was the morning after the night before, darling. Both of you were in a heightened state of emotion at the time, not to mention horribly hungover. And from what you've told me, ever since then you've both been pussyfooting around one another, making sure that you say nothing of consequence and avoiding any mention of the situation."

"But what if he pushes me away again, Mary?"

"Then he's a fool." Sybil gives a weak smile and her sister meets it with an expression of empathy. "But if you stay silent, then you're going to carry on feeling utterly miserable, so surely it's worth taking a chance?"

Sybil wishes that she shares her sister's fundamental confidence in the outcome, but knows that ultimately Mary's assessment is correct.

ooOoo

She returns to London later that evening but after heartfelt farewells with her family, makes a brief pre-arranged diversion to Ripon in order to visit Gwen who is staying with her family over the festive period. There is a warm welcome from Gwen's parents who have known her since the two girls started secondary school together and who usher Sybil into their living room, appreciating that she and their daughter will want to make the most of the short time they have together.

"So I've just got tomorrow here and then I'm back to Dublin the following day." Gwen explains after the two have warmly embraced and each enquired about their respective Christmas experiences.

"Back to Joe?" Sybil asks smiling and her friend replies with a broad grin.

"Yeah. I did think about coming down to London for New Year, but then you said you'd volunteered to work anyway, so I thought I'd go back and spend it with him."

"How are you going to be able to leave him behind when you finish there, Gwen? Oh…!" Sybil curtails her teasing questioning as a sudden notion crosses her mind. "…are you not coming back?"

"Yes I am, I have to. I won't have a job in Dublin after February, but I will have one in London." Gwen nods with a serious expression. "But I do need to talk to you about what's going to happen. You know, with the flat?"

Sybil rubs her forehead in contemplation. "Oh God, of course."

"I mean, I thought the case would be resolved one way or another by the time I finished my year." Gwen pauses awkwardly and looks at Sybil in earnest.

"Yes well we all did. Um..."

"I mean, there's still two months to go." Gwen continues hurriedly. "So hopefully it still might be. I've got a week's leave afterwards, but I'm due back in the London office on March 7th."

"I'll have to talk to Tom about what to do with her things."

"If you would prefer me to find somewhere else, I'll understand."

"No, no…of course not. It's your flat, Gwen! I mean, we found it together, of course you have to move back in, I want you to! And if she comes back, then presumably she'd have to go back to Dublin anyway. Tom said that your company is still paying her salary each month – he's got power of attorney and arranges for half the rent to be paid. Are they holding her job open?"

Gwen nods. "As far as I know, yes. I don't know how far in the future that will stretch, but certainly for the time being."

"Well he'll have to make the decision whether to keep her things in London or send them back to Dublin, I guess." Sybil notices Gwen fidgeting awkwardly in her seat and places her hand on her friend's knee. "Are you OK with coming back into the same flat after what's happened? I mean, would you would prefer us to find somewhere else?"

"No, it's not that, Syb. It's just that I want to be upfront with you. I'm not planning on staying for long."

"Oh…right." She hadn't anticipated this outcome, but it quickly makes sense. "Because of Joe?"

"He's asked me to stay on in Dublin, but I don't want to do that without a job. You know my career's important to me and I'm not going to give it up at this point in my life. I've put some feelers out but there's nothing available at the moment. So I'm coming back, but I will be looking to move back to Dublin when the right thing comes up. " She scrunches up her face in apology. "Sorry, Syb."

Her stomach is lurching with disappointment, but she doesn't want to deflect from her friend's personal happiness and squeezes her hand warmly. "Don't be silly, that's wonderful! I'm really happy for you. So presumably I might actually meet him at last?"

"He'll be coming to visit me, yes. And I'll go over there. We've both got good jobs, we can each afford to fly over once a month. But when I said earlier that I'd understand if you want me to move elsewhere, I meant it. If it's easier for you to find a long term flatmate now, rather than later?"

Sybil leans forward and gives Gwen a sincere hug of gratitude mixed with affection. "Of course not. I want you to come back, for however long or short a period it might be."

"It might take months until I find something. You might end up thinking that you'll never be rid of me!"

"I doubt that very much."

"I'll miss you though. I have really missed you while I've been in Dublin."

"Same here. But we knew when we took the flat that it wouldn't be forever."

Gwen nods and smiles at her best friend. "Life moves on."

"Of course and so do we."

ooOoo

She returns home after work two days later to an email from Tom. The warmer tone of his Christmas text has disappeared, replaced instead by his previous formal manner. There are neither kisses after his name, nor enquiries about her festive break, but he concludes by mentioning that he has finished the book she bought him and enjoyed it.

Dawn Pulliver is putting plans into place for a New Year press conference about Emma's case, hoping to reignite the investigation and to encourage the provision of new information. Her budget is under pressure without new leads and there's a strong possibility that officers will shortly be re-assigned to other, more pressing enquiries. Consequently this second press conference will take place in London, rather than Dublin. Tom's bland explanation that _'my mother has decided not to fly over and take part' _masks what Sybil understands is his personal disillusionment at Margaret's behaviour and her own attitude is shrouded with feelings of anger and injustice.

Dawn has enquired whether Sybil is prepared to be involved instead. She's been honest enough to point out that her status as the daughter of an Earl is likely to once again grasp the attention of the public and explains that she would like to emphasise the issue, despite Sybil's general rejection of her title. The request is emotionally charged for Sybil and represents all that she has spent her adult life attempting to deflect. However, she feels compelled to assist in whatever way she can and wants to offer support to Tom, particularly after his mother's habitual rejection of any responsibility towards her daughter's plight.

Arrangements need to be made within the next few days and Tom politely suggests that Sybil discusses the matter with her family, on whom an impact will also be felt. She certainly intends to offer them this courtesy but knows that fundamentally they will have no objection. Her parents and sisters have repeatedly stressed their desire to support Sybil in any way they can and her mother awkwardly confessed over Christmas that the National Trust is delighted with the increase in visitor numbers to the Abbey, as a result of publicity relating to Emma's disappearance.

Sybil waits until the next day before composing her reply to Tom, once again giving her phrasing careful consideration, but making it clear that she has no opposition to taking part. Her conversation with Mary remains at the forefront of her mind and although she in part feels that it may be inappropriate to use her involvement in the press conference for her own advantage, she is also anxious for an opportunity to speak to Tom alone. She remains unconvinced that ultimately he will provide the outcome she desperately desires, but remains in agreement with her sister that they cannot continue as they are. Even the thought of another rejection makes her stomach clench with anxiety, but she is resolute in her decision to tell him how she feels and is resigned to accept whichever consequences result.

She agrees to all of Dawn's requests and asks that Tom stops by at her flat after the press conference has taken place. She proposes a meal and mentions that she would like an opportunity to discuss the eventualities relating to the end of both Gwen and Emma's internships. Not wanting to invite him under entirely devious circumstances, she concludes by explaining that she would like to _'catch up'_ and to her relief, mixed however with unavoidable fear, he agrees.


	15. Chapter 15

Tom sits stiffly between Dawn Pulliver and DS Khan, a compassionate and efficient detective who has the official overall responsibility for Emma's case, although the reality of crime rates in central London means that it's one of several he represents. It's Dawn with whom Tom continues to liaise on a day to day basis and in whom he retains his ultimate confidence and trust. Approximately forty journalists and photographers, many of whom are of his professional acquaintance, sit before him in the bland hotel conference room, all looking expectant as he is introduced and commences the speech he has earlier rehearsed. In many ways, the necessity of today's event is demoralising and he can only attempt to deflect such involuntary negative thoughts. Almost four months have passed since he took part in a similar scenario with his mother in Dublin and at the time, he naively believed it to be the lynchpin towards solving Emma's case. Instead, the investigation has revealed little of consequence regarding her disappearance and despite Dawn's earnest and committed assurances, he has an appreciation of the diminishing likelihood of its successful resolution.

He clears his throat, nods at Dawn and glances only fleetingly at his handwritten notes, lying in front of him on the table. "My sister Emma Branson left for work from her flat in Kennington on Tuesday 11th September. We know that she took her normal route on the tube and arrived at Chancery Lane as usual. She was spotted shortly afterwards in Eagle Street, talking to a man who remains unknown to us. A little while later, her mobile phone was switched off and we have heard nothing about her whereabouts since." He glances up at the assembled audience and is met by a mixture of compassionate and professional expressions. Swallowing quickly and taking a short inhale of breath to curtail the swell of emotion which is threatening to derail his efficiency, he continues. "Somebody, somewhere knows something about where my sister went and where she is now. There has been much speculation over the last few months about her private life, but to date we have no evidence to prove that this is related to her disappearance. On behalf of all of my family and her many friends, I am asking you to please, please get in contact with either the Metropolitan Police or the Garda if you have any information which you feel may be relevant to the case. Anything you tell them will be treated in the strictest confidence and your anonymity will be assured. We desperately want to find Emma and bring her safely home. We love her and miss her, please help us if you can."

"Thank you Tom…" says DS Khan gravely "…I'm sure that everyone here understands what a difficult time this has been for you and your family." There's a low murmur of assent from the assembled crowd and Tom nods his thanks before relaxing his shoulders and sitting back in his chair. A glance to his left provides a view of Sybil, seated on the other side of Dawn, who is currently leaning forward on the table, providing contact details and other practical information for those who may be able to assist. Sybil is looking down at her lap, where her own notes rest. Her long hair conceals his view of her face, but he can tell by the way that she repetitively rubs the papers between her thumb and forefinger, that she's anxious and uncomfortable in these unusual surroundings.

"And now Emma's flatmate and friend, Lady Sybil Crawley is going to say a few words" explains Dawn and Tom notes the flurry of additional interest caused by this statement. Journalists shuffle in their seats, pens are poised with anticipation and lenses turn swiftly in her direction as Sybil clears her throat and sits up straight, looking directly out before her.

"I was the last known person to speak to Emma that morning and certainly I had no reason to be concerned about her welfare, nor believe that she was under any stress or coercion. She left our flat in her usual upbeat manner and asked me to record a television programme for her that evening." She speaks slowly and confidently, seemingly unfazed by speaking in public, yet Tom can see her fingers continue to pull at the notes on her lap, providing the only visible evidence of nerves. He wishes that he'd had a chance to speak to her privately before they were seated, to have an opportunity once again to express his thanks for her co-operation and allowing her official title to be used without complaint as a pawn to entice new evidence. She'd been greeted by Dawn, who hadn't subsequently left her side – going through the speech she would present and offering explanations as to the likely questions asked. Besides a polite kiss to his cheek and friendly exchange of smiles, their contact had been minimal and he can only watch the back of her head as she continues.

"There was nothing to suggest that she did not intend to return. Like her family, I'm desperately concerned about what has happened to her and would reiterate Tom's plea to please get in contact with the police if there is anything that you feel might be relevant, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant you believe it may be. Please help us to find Emma."

DS Khan concludes with a summary of the events which have taken place since Emma disappeared, alluding to the efforts made by his team to date in the investigation and assuring his audience of the police's commitment to the case. Questions are invited and it is stressed that these should relate to Emma's disappearance only; there are to be no queries concerning Sybil's family, nor unsubstantiated speculation regarding Emma's love life.

"Lady Sybil, were you concerned for your own safety after Emma's disappearance?" His ex, Amanda asks from the front row and there's another flurry of clicks as the photographers rush to capture Sybil's image while she shakes her head and confirms that she has no reason to believe that she was ever vulnerable.

"Lady Sybil, did Emma ever mention an affair with an Irish politician to you?"

"Were you aware of Emma having a friend or contact in Hong Kong, Lady Sybil?"

"Lady Sybil, do you feel that Emma ever deceived you about her whereabouts during your friendship?"

"Lady Sybil, do you believe that Emma is still alive?"

Tom can only observe helplessly as the questions are all directed elsewhere. Dawn interrupts frequently to spare Sybil elements of awkward exchange. "We have no evidence at this stage to suggest that Emma is dead and therefore I would like to stress that this remains a missing person enquiry."

Sybil offers competent and effective replies and he's impressed by the assured way in which she handles the barrage of questions. Finally, there's one aimed at him and it takes him unawares, causing him to catch his breath and his cheeks to automatically flush with anger.

"Tom, can you tell us why your brother Kieran is estranged from Emma? Does she have a history of difficult relationships?" His thoughts move quickly to the fractures of their family unit – the father Emma rarely saw, their temperamental mother whose affection was sought but unreliably provided, the step-father who never attempted to conceal his preference for his biological daughter and two brothers who allowed their relationships with her to wither until one was wholly extinguished. No blame ever lay with Emma and the emotional responses she displayed from time to time were caused solely by frustration and her justified disappointment.

Dawn is looking at him with concern, an eyebrow arched, tipping her head to indicate that he is not obliged to answer, but he quickly shakes his head and turns towards the journalist in question.

"Emma was caught in the middle of a disagreement between my brother and our mother. There's no personal antagonism between the two of them. They simply haven't seen each other as a result of that. It's unfortunate, but not relevant to the case."

His mother will be furious, but he feels impervious to the consequences. _'Airing our dirty laundry in public! How could you!'_ He can hear her indignant response in his head, but the answer appears to have satisfied the journalists' line of enquiry for the time being and the conference is shortly concluded. DS Khan thanks all participants while he and Sybil are lead out of the room by Dawn and into a nearby office.

"You both did a great job, thank you. Now Tom, I will of course contact you as soon as I have anything relevant from this, but I would suggest that you both get going now and get a head start on them all." Tom nods and leans to pick up the coat he had earlier left on a chair, while Dawn lightly touches Sybil's arm. "I have to warn you that I'd expect you to probably have a small contingent outside your flat again over the next day or two. They'll be trying to get something a little less formal from you if they can, probably about your family or Emma's love life. My advice is to keep quiet and refuse all questioning as you've done before. I know it's a pain, but hopefully it'll only be a short while. Try to remember that it all helps to keep the case in the spotlight and that's our priority at the moment." Sybil smiles and shrugs her shoulders in resignation before turning to him expectantly.

"Shall we go then?"

They march silently through the bleak January temperature, each bracing against the cold wind, their heads dipped towards the ground as they hunch shoulders and push gloved hands deep into pockets. He smokes a last cigarette, determine to abstain for the evening and prove some self-restraint. It's less than ten minutes' walk to Sybil's flat and no words are exchanged before they arrive.

"Gah…bloody hell, it's cold out there!" It's not the most imaginative opening line, but it serves its purpose to relieve any underlying tension and she smiles in response, shaking her body as she relieves it of her coat.

"The heating's on, hopefully we'll soon warm up" she says and wanders towards the kitchen. He hears the sound of her filling the kettle as he lowers himself onto her sofa, remembering as he does so the last time he sat here and feeling familiar interwoven sensations of remorse and regret. She brings him a welcome coffee and sits on an adjacent armchair, her legs tucked under her, fingers wrapped around her mug.

"Dinner won't be long. I made a casserole this morning, so it just needs to heat up. I hope that's OK? Do you mind eating a bit early, only I didn't get a chance to have lunch?"

"No me neither, thank you. Anything you cook is always wonderful." He's enthusing beyond the point of politeness in order to deflect his discomfort at being here in her flat once again. Her and Emma's home was once a place of solace and friendship, but now he associates it with a brief night of repentant passion and his subsequent hurtful behaviour.

"How was your Christmas?" she asks suddenly, interrupting his melancholy reverie and he adjusts his position on the sofa, nodding slowly as he recollects the story he provided about spending it with friends.

"Good, thanks" he replies, but before he can embellish this with any detail, she continues.

"Were you on your own?" Instinctively, he opens his mouth in denial, but when he meets her gaze, there's no sense that she's angry with his lies, simply concerned by their implication of solitude.

"You're very astute" he replies with a forced laugh.

"You know, you could have come to Yorkshire with me. I wouldn't have meant anything by it, only as a friend. My family would have loved to have had you there."

"Thank you, but I wanted to be on my own…" Her frown signifies disbelief, but she's only ever known amiable and joyful Christmasses with her family and can't possibly understand his habitual dread of the festive season and the unhappy memories it contains. "…Honestly, I could have gone to Dublin or Liverpool and I genuinely could have spent it with friends if I'd wanted to, but it didn't feel right to celebrate this year with Emma missing." He watches her visible discomfort and is anxious that she doesn't feel as if he's judging her own happy reunion with her family.

"It's just me, that's all. I enjoy being on my own at times and I just wanted to reflect a little, that's all."

"I don't like to think of you being alone and despondent."

He shakes his head. "I wasn't, I promise. I actually had quite a good day all in all, doing exactly what I wanted to do and not what other people wanted me to do. I bought some nice food – not very Christmassy food admittedly, but I went to the deli and got various bits and pieces to pick on, had a couple of beers and a nice bottle of red, but drank them over the course of several hours so I wasn't completely pissed. I watched two good films, had bought a book I wanted to read, but then I opened yours and ended up reading that instead. It was all very pleasant in actual fact."

"It was being on page 96 that gave you away."

"What?" He doesn't follow, but her smile is infectious and he instantly responds with one of his own.

"I thought it was pretty unsociable to read 96 pages of a book on the history of the German motor industry at a friend's house on Christmas Day."

"Ah…yes I see, I didn't cover my tracks very well, did I? I was halfway through my bottle of red by then you see, my defences were down."

"I was worried about you."

"You didn't need to be, I promise."

She holds his gaze with another smile and his stomach performs a peculiar form of gymnastics, leaving him to feel momentarily defenceless before she rises from her seat and murmurs that she's going to check on the dinner. Closing his eyes, he leans back on the sofa and attempts to ignore his rising feeling of discomfort, wondering whether they will ever be able to return to their previous easy friendship. He's torn between desiring her and wanting to place some distance between the two of them, although he's appreciative of the efforts she's making at normality. His self-justification at rejecting her seems insubstantial now that he is here with her, yet he is frightened of re-treading the same path and makes a silent pledge not to drink any alcohol this evening in an effort at self-control.

They chat cautiously over their meal. He asks about her time in Yorkshire and she provides him with brief snippets of her family life, leaving him envious of their mutual affection and normality, regardless of their title and relative privilege. She appears uncomfortable as they conclude, rubbing at a non-existent smear on the table with her finger and tapping her foot methodically so that he fears for what she may be about to reveal. It's a relief when she explains her friend Gwen's predicament and he hastily reassures her that he's not offended by her raising the topic for discussion.

"If she's still missing by then, I'll put her things in storage. It's not a problem. Of course Gwen should come back here, if Emma comes back then she'll be going back to Dublin. It's fine, don't worry about it. We'll give it until late February and then I'll make arrangements if I need to."

She seems to visibly relax at his reaction and he moves the conversation along, explaining that he spoke to his brother on New Year's Day and will be travelling to Liverpool next weekend to visit him and his family. He's relieved to have made efforts to make amends for their previous falling out and now feels a little more at peace with their family dynamics. Amy and he are in regular and amiable contact. She has added him to her group of email recipients, which means that he is greeted with frequent jokes and anecdotes that she has forwarded, but he's learned that he is not expected to prove that he has read them in order to offer a friendly greeting in return. His contact with Margaret has been more sporadic. While not ignoring her entirely, he doesn't always pick up the phone when he sees her number and made a conscious decision to time his Christmas Day call when he knew they would all be at mass. Knowing that any harsh words of recrimination would lead to him ruminating all day and throwing his day of quiet contemplation off-kilter, he left a heartfelt message, wishing them all a good day and letting them know that Emma was in his thoughts and prayers. In truth, he hasn't specifically prayed for anything since his childhood, but in his mind prayer is entwined with hope and reflection and in that sense, his choice of words was not a fabrication.

He's still considering his planned visit to see Kieran, lost in thought about reacquainting himself with his niece and nephew, when Sybil's question seems to appear out of the blue.

"Did I get it completely wrong, Tom?" She's gazing at him defiantly, but there's an underlying sadness in her eyes and after his initial puzzlement about this new topic of conversation, he understands what she's trying to ask. His mind races in an attempt to provide a truthful, yet appropriate reply, but before he is successful, she continues regardless.

"It's only that before that night…." There's a poignant pause so that there can be no room for uncertainty. "…I really thought that you had feelings for me - beyond friendship, that is. I'm not saying immediately, but over time. Mine changed and I really believed that yours had too. But now when you sit here, after everything that's happened, and just chat casually about this and that, I wonder if I was simply fooling myself."

Her eyes don't leave his face and demand honesty. Every part of him wants to walk away from this conversation and avoid its inevitable confrontation, or at least continue with the affable charade they have been conducting for the last hour or so. Yet he understands that she deserves the indisputable truth and that in doing so, he needs to confront his own feelings, regardless of the discomfort and emotion they create.

"No, you didn't get it wrong." he says quietly. "But I shouldn't have…"

There's no opportunity to elaborate as she interrupts sharply. "You don't believe that you deserve to be loved, that's the problem, I think."

"Pardon?" He heard her quite clearly, but he's thrown by what she's said and isn't certain whether to be angry or indignant.

"Because of the way your mother has treated you…"

Now it's his turn to interject. "I don't need a maternal substitute, Sybil, if that's what you're suggesting. You're not the first woman to come to this conclusion, I can assure you but it's total bollocks!" The tone is harsher than he had intended, but he wants to halt her line of thought immediately. She appears unabashed by his admonishment, however and shakes her head.

"I have no desire to try and replace your mother, I can assure you! I just mean that her input has distorted every other relationship you've had and it's made you dismiss all the other love you've had in your life." She pauses only briefly, never allowing her eyes to leave his. "From what you've told me, your Da loved you very, very much. But somehow, I think you believe that his love doesn't count because he was so flawed. But we're all flawed in some way, it doesn't make our love any less valid."

He's still too shaken by the way this conversation is heading to be able to adequately confront it, but instead snorts with derision while he rises to his feet and walks across the room, needing to place some considerable distance between them. "Really and just how are you flawed then? And please don't tell me that you've got a mole in an inconvenient place or something."

As he turns to face her, she blinks impassively, not displaying any offence.

"I can be quite impatient at times." He shrugs his shoulders to dismiss this notion as immaterial and in doing so spots a flash of irritation in her eyes. "You asked me, so now listen to the answer!" she says firmly and he stands rooted to the spot, unable to deny her valid request.

"It's the one thing that I get picked up on at work, that I want to somehow rush the system, get things pushed through before they're due. Anyway, any member of my family would agree, I've always been that way. And I chew the skin around my right thumbnail, which is a fairly revolting habit…" He has noticed this and it often makes him wince, although he's never verbally raised his objection. "…And I'm about half a stone heavier than I ought to be really, mainly because of my persistent chocolate habit. Look, I realise that these things don't equate to being an alcoholic and going absent and all the things that your father did, but I'm just trying to show you that absolutely nobody is perfect. We've all got faults to a certain degree, but love transcends those. It isn't weighted; nobody's is worth more than somebody else's. If you're loved, it's because you deserve to be. I mean, your brother loves you but you spend so much time fighting him off that you can't see it and Emma loves you, but the same applied there and from what you say, Amy loves you too! And I…" she comes to an abrupt halt, finally appearing hesitant and less sure of herself.

He can't help but goad her, despite being torn by the prospect of any passionate declaration. His stomach is churning and he feels suddenly light-headed, leaning back against her living room wall in an attempt at disguise.

"And you what?" he asks, using what he hopes is a strong tone of voice, thus avoiding any betrayal of his internal turmoil.

She flushes a little, but it only serves to make her appear prettier still and he can feel his hands beginning to shake so leans back on them in concealment.

"I care about you a great deal!" she says defiantly and he can't help but feel a little disappointed, even cheated, by such a bland statement. She seems to realise how ineffective it must have sounded, wincing at her own words and looking momentarily embarrassed.

"Look, I'm not going to stand here and issue some dramatic declaration about love…" she adds "…not when you won't give us a chance. But I do think we could make each other happy. I think we're a good team and who knows what that can lead to?"

"You deserve someone better" he replies, his voice now growing hoarse. It's clear from the roll of her eyes that he has fulfilled her expectations with a very predictable response.

"I deserve to be happy, that's all. And so do you. We're allowed to be happy you know, it doesn't deflect from how much we care about Emma and still want to find her!"

"I…" he mutters, unable to think with any clarity. She's already provided answers to both of his main points of contention and he has no way of knowing that one declaration was lifted directly from the mouth of her sister.

"Do you think Emma would mind?" she asks "Because I don't. From what I knew of her, she'd be happy about it. In fact, I think she'd be absolutely delighted if she walked back in here tomorrow and found us together." Seamlessly she switches to a passable Dublin accent and puts a hand on her hip, twisting her hair around a finger in a recognisable trait of Emma's.

"Well now, what have _you two_ been up to while I've been away then, you cheeky devils!" It's such an effective impersonation that he's unable to supress a laugh and it catches them both unaware. Her stature appears more relaxed and he unconsciously takes a step towards her.

"Sybil…I'm messed up, that's all I'm saying. I don't want to drag you into all my shit."

"I'm already in the middle of it, I was from the moment Emma didn't come home."

"I don't mean just that." He rubs his forehead anxiously, briefly reflecting on his on-going struggles with alcohol and nicotine. "It's everything else…oh Christ!" He glances up at her and issues a heartfelt plea. "I don't want to end up like my Da!"

She reaches forward as if to touch him, then appears to change her mind and shakes her head in silent admonishment.

"I don't want you to end up like your Da either. I want more than fifteen years!"

There's mutual silence as the implication of her words sink in and her cheeks turn a violent shade of red as she looks at the ground and runs a hand awkwardly through her hair.

"I mean that I want to help you, if you'll let me. His story doesn't have to be your conclusion, you know. You're allowed to have a happy ending." She doesn't look up as she speaks, her shoulders are hunched and he wants nothing more than to reach forward and hold her.

"Anyway…" she says haltingly

"Every relationship I've ever had has ended in failure" he explains and is perplexed when she turns towards him with an amused smile.

"Well of course! And so have mine. That's why I'm single. You're not unique in being on your own, you know! Everyone who's single, unless it's been caused by a death, is in that position because their previous relationships have ended – failed, so to speak. You beat yourself up about it, but in reality you're no different from lots of other people."

"God, you've got an answer for everything, haven't you?" His reply is laced with wry humour, but she provides a rare look of self-doubt and he's suddenly acutely aware that this could be one of the most pivotal moments of his life. While he instinctively wants to protect her from the potential fall-out of a relationship with him, an abrupt sensation of urgency washes over him, bringing with it the realisation that if he rejects her again, he could live to regret it for the remainder of his days.

"I bet you were on the school debating team, weren't you?" he asks lightly and smiles as she nods in agreement.

"Look, I just wanted to tell you how I feel." she explains, holding his gaze once again. "I've already forced myself on you once, I'm not going to…."

"_Forced_ yourself on me?" he interrupts incredulously. "I seem to remember that I was quite a willing participant at the time!"

"You were drunk."

"So were you."

"I was certainly more than willing."

"So was I." He pauses only briefly before taking his metaphorical and decisive step into temptation. "I still am." Her expression doesn't alter and he's not certain if she understands that he's concluded their verbal dance around the truth and is now ready to face the consequences. Only when he reaches forward to take her hand does she finally break into a relaxed smile and he answers the unspoken query in her eyes with a firm nod.

"I do want you, I'm crazy about you if truth be told. I'm sorry I've been such an arse. You definitely deserve better, but if you're mad enough to still really want to be with me, then let's do it." His faltering speech is curtailed as her lips meet his and he pulls her towards him, his arms reaching around her back and feeling her own rest on the back of his neck. For several minutes they stand entwined, their mouths gently exploring and providing confident answers to any feelings of doubt and self-worth. Finally Sybil leans her head back and with a smile of irresistible promise, asks,

"So, now what?"

He's too absorbed in the enticing taste of her mouth and overcome by the sensation of overriding relief now that the decision has been made, to fully understand her intent.

"Er…I don't know" he mutters, leaning forward again for another kiss. However, an arched eyebrow and her coy expression make it precipitately clear.

"Oh well…" he feels compelled to try and behave at least in some way gallantly, although in truth his resistance is risible. "…you know, I don't want you to feel that we have to rush into anything."

"I think it's already too late for that" she whispers, slipping her tongue deftly between his lips and ensuring in doing so that she answers her own question. He needs no further encouragement and in a gesture worthy of a romantic lead, sweeps her up into his arms and takes his first steps towards her bedroom. The reality however, is that Sybil is a little heavier than he'd anticipated, he hasn't lifted her from the most appropriate angle and he can't remember the last time he entered a gym so is significantly out of shape. She has the grace to giggle as his grip on her begins to slide and his fraught efforts not to drop her on the floor result in him practically throwing her on to the bed, toppling gracelessly to one side in an attempt not to burden her with his full bodyweight.

"I told you I'm half a stone heavier than I should be!" she says with a grin as he apologises for such an unsophisticated move.

"No…" he replies, firmly shaking his head, before leaning towards her for another languid kiss. "…you're perfect, every inch of you." Over the course of the next forty minutes, he ensures that it is his sole intention to kiss each one of those inches, stroking and caressing her in unison and losing himself in her moans of satisfaction until finally she arches her back and cries out his name in ecstasy. Moments later, as he slides gently inside her, she wraps her legs around his waist and he is so overwhelmed with happiness that in a habitual attempt to hide his emotions, he buries his face in her neck and ensures that she cannot see the tears which have sprung.

ooOoo

The following morning, Tom is once again woken by the sounds of Sybil stirring beside him. However on this occasion he does not feign sleep and ensures that his eyes are wide open while she turns slowly over to face him, therefore witnessing her fleeting expression of anxiety as she wonders whether history is about to repeat itself.

"Morning" he murmurs softly, reaching out a hand under the duvet and smiling as he notes her look of relief swiftly turn to one of satisfaction and pleasure. Wriggling across the bed, her hand slips gently around his waist and he draws her close for a long kiss which he hopes can lead her to have no doubt that his intentions remain intact. Within seconds he's hard and she grinds against him in appreciation.

"See the effect you have on me?" he says softly and smiles at her coy expression.

"Be a shame to waste it" she whispers and he requires no second bidding.

Afterwards, as they lie contentedly entwined, he runs a finger softly along her hipbone and says in a teasing manner.

"So…you've got a few sexy moves, Miss Crawley."

She appears momentarily bashful, before laughing and raises the side of her head up onto her hand.

"Well I'm not a complete novice, but I'm not wildly experienced either."

He meant it only as a playful interlude, but she elucidates nonetheless. "I've had a couple of steady boyfriends. One was my sixth form boyfriend that fizzled out after a term at med school, the other was someone a couple of years above me, but we just grew apart after eighteen months or so. Then there were a couple of shorter term, well flings I guess you could call them and then one very short lived affair." She flashes a cheeky grin. "Not exactly a one night stand, but a three night stand instead. So…." He feels a gentle poke in the ribs. "…you're my sixth. And I'm your…?"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head in shame. "I don't know" he replies honestly, overcome with a sense of dread at where this conversation is heading. However, when he looks at her again, she's smiling without any apparent resentment.

"Tom, I'm only teasing you! You're thirty-four, I'd be shocked if there hadn't been quite a few!"

He sighs and places a soft kiss on her shoulder in gratitude. "I used sex like alcohol for a while, it helped me blot everything out. Not in recent years, I tired of it all after a while, but there were a lot of brief affairs and one night stands in the past." He can't help but grimace. "I told you last night that I don't have a very good track record."

"Well we'll see how we go" she says quietly, reaching out and placing a hand around his waist and he's suddenly overwhelmed with fear by even the slightest hint of potential failure in her assertion.

He grasps her hand tightly. "I want this to work" he says, looking into her eyes with a silent plea and his subdued dread is pacified for the time being by her hand reaching for his cheek, accompanied by a gentle kiss.

"We'll make it work." It's said with firm conviction and he hopes that she has no reason to subsequently refute the sentiment.

They make love once again, then enjoy a leisurely breakfast before Sybil reluctantly concedes that despite being on a late shift today, she needs to begin to get dressed and he turns his mind to the article he has agreed to write for the weekend's colour supplement. While she's in the shower, he wanders across to the living room window and his satisfied contemplation is brought to an abrupt halt by the sight of five journalists waiting on the pavement outside.

"We've got a problem" he declares when she emerges like a glorious effigy from the bathroom's steam, a maroon towel expertly wrapped around her head.

"Well Dawn did warn us" she replies, giving a brief, disdainful glance out of the window before moving away out of sight.

"We didn't talk about this last night…or this morning" he says cautiously and mirrors her playful smile of response. "I know we agreed that Emma would be happy for us, but you know…I'm not sure that everyone will feel the same way."

"Do you mean your mother? It doesn't sound as if she'd be happy for anyone."

"No, not her, although you're right. I'm not worried about her though. It's the general public, I mean."

Her eyes narrow marginally and he elaborates in haste. "If Emma's absence wasn't weighing on our shoulders, I'd be out there shouting it from the rooftops, believe me." She smiles hesitantly before he continues. "But do we really want to be tomorrow's headlines? I mean, we want Emma's case to be in the newspapers, but not deflected by our story. Not yet anyway."

She nods in appreciation. "Am I allowed to tell my sisters though?"

"Of course you can."

"And Gwen?"

"Yes, as long as you're sure that she won't discuss it with her and Emma's colleagues."

"She won't. And Anna?"

He can't help but begin to laugh, wondering to how many the list will extend.

"And Uncle Tom Cobbley?" he teases and she holds up a hand in protestation.

"That's it, I promise. I'm happy, that's all! I just want to tell my nearest and dearest."

He draws her close and plants a long kiss on her lips. "I'm happy too. Very happy indeed, even though it's all been rather unexpected, I won't deny it."

"But we need to smuggle you out of the building."

"Is that possible?" He isn't aware of any secondary exits, but she knows its corridors far better than he does.

"I have a plan!"

And therefore half an hour later, Sybil strides confidently out of the front door, nodding to the small assembled waiting crowd and surprises its participants by turning abruptly on the pavement and agreeing to listen to their questions. Their backs are turned against the front door and listening with enraptured concentration, they take no notice of the woollen hatted man who emerges two minutes later, his shoulders hunched against the low temperature and face obscured by the collar of his coat.

"'Scuse me mate." he says with an Australian drawl as he passes by, only superficially acknowledged by those who move out of his path. He stifles a satisfied smile as he strides towards the underground, his posture straightening, curtailing his involuntary desire to break into a contented whistle. He arrives at Kennington station, purchases a newspaper and stands to one side, flicking through it with distracted attention as he reflects happily on the previous 24 hours' events and waits for his girlfriend to catch him up.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Thank you for all the lovely reviews - I'm glad to have satisfied everyone's romantic natures for the time being!_**

* * *

Four days later, Sybil emerges from Kentish Town tube station and squinting in the welcome warmth of mid-winter sunlight, draws out her phone to follow the instructions Tom has sent her to find his flat. It's the first time they've seen one another since he conceded his true feelings towards her and the happier conclusion of their second night together. She's worked three late shifts this week and had a pre-arranged evening to the cinema with her friend Anna on the only evening she was free. Now however, she can enjoy two days off before she begins a string of night shifts, something which takes place every sixth week. She's spent her morning running outstanding errands and then waiting in for her landlord who wanted reassurance that the rent would continue to be paid in the light of Emma's on-going absence. It's now late afternoon and Tom's planning to take her to a local Turkish restaurant which he's spoken of highly on more than one occasion in the past – their first official date.

Her stomach is lurching with eager anticipation at the evening, and subsequent night ahead. To any objective observer, there will be little change from their previous get-togethers or meals out – they have agreed to keep the full nature of their relationship shielded from view and try to avoid any misguided interest from bystanders and the potentially the press. However, the very fact that she is visiting his home for the first time indicates the turn their friendship has taken and she has no doubt that they will subsequently take full advantage of the circumstances provided by the privacy of his flat.

It's several months since Sybil acknowledged her long-term single status to PC Alison Johnson and while there was truth in her statement that the situation provided little concern, she's very happy at this change to her position. Being with Tom offers a previously un-held feeling of contentment and she's certain that their four-month long friendship until this point will hold their relationship in good stead. She's missed the dedicated companionship of a being one half of a couple, particularly since Gwen left for Dublin and in many ways, her friend's personal happiness in Ireland has only served to highlight Sybil's own solitude. Her last short–lived affair ended fourteen months earlier and such a length of time has compounded her determination not to delay the physical aspect of her liaison with Tom. She is human after all and their first night together had only emphasised what had been missing in her life for such a significant period of time.

She always enjoys looking around other people's homes – her sister Edith says she's _'naturally nosy'_, and in part that's true, although she prefers to see it as taking an interest in how others portray their personalities and interests. She has no desire to snoop, but will often be found peering with abject curiosity at photographs on a shelf, or inquisitive about pictures and artefacts displayed around a room. Sybil understands that Tom's disjointed family background means that he is reticent about sharing many personal details, but in having unexpectedly been made his confidant on that fateful night in November, she believes that she possibly understands him in a way that many of his friends may not. Having the opportunity to spend time in the place he has called home for three years might provide her with additional insight into his life and she hopes that over time, it will be somewhere she will feel equally comfortable.

His directions bring her to a quiet street, each side mirrored with a row of terraced, Victorian houses, their bay windows stretching out into the minute front gardens, which provide only minimal privacy from curious passers-by. Several remain spacious family homes, but the majority have been turned into flats and Tom resides on a first floor, currently sandwiched between a recently divorced father downstairs and a volatile couple above, whose early hours of the morning rows and subsequent makings up have led him to purchase ear plugs for the first time in his life. She rings his designated doorbell and is surprised to hear the door click without any preliminary greeting through the intercom. The communal hallway is tiny, but the stained glass pattern at the top of the front door and its adjoining window give it an uplifting aura while a ray of direct sunshine highlights particles of dust suspended directionless in the air. There's a pile of takeaway leaflets on the boxed in radiator and a couple of misdirected letters which nobody has claimed. Passing by the door for the ground floor flat, she makes her way up the stairs and in doing so, can hear the familiar tone of Tom's voice. Before she's reached the top step, a door opens and his head appears, flashing a brief, but tense smile and pointing unnecessarily to the telephone he is holding to his right ear.

"Dawn" he mouths as he steps back to allow her entry.

"Well I appreciate you letting me know" he says gravely, turning away and Sybil stands watching him for a moment, before feeling as if she is eavesdropping and stepping through the nearest doorway. Finding herself unexpectedly in the bathroom, she strides back out, spots a flash of amusement in his expression and offers a sarcastic smile before successfully negotiating her way to the living room.

"Yes, please just ring me as soon as you find anything else out. Let's hope this throws something up then. Fingers crossed." There's a pause before he concludes. "Thanks Dawn. Speak to you soon."

She's taking her coat off and looking at the large print of Dublin on a wall when he enters behind her.

"Is there some news?" she asks eagerly, spinning around, aware of her heartbeat suddenly increasing now that she has his full attention.

"Something's come up, yes." He rubs his forehead, a sign that she already knows is an indication of stress and anxiety. "A woman's come forward to say that she saw Emma in a country hotel in Sussex back in June and that she was there with a man. Definitely a romantic encounter, she saw them kissing and with arms around one another."

"Might it be the politician, do you think?"

Tom shakes his head. "He was definitely English, apparently. This woman remembers that Emma had an Irish accent, but is adamant that her companion did not. So this is someone else. Perhaps our mysterious Pay As You Go correspondent."

"And why has she only just remembered this all of a sudden?"

She hears him offer a light sigh. "Well that's what the press conference was for, wasn't it? To jog people's memories. She says that she wondered if it was her when she first read about Emma going missing, but wasn't certain and now it's back in the spotlight again, she's decided that it definitely was."

"So what happens now?"

"They've got the visitors' book from the hotel and they're going through it. He'll almost certainly have used a false name if he's married, but with any luck, they can trace him through a credit card or car registration or something. It's not a huge hotel, so Dawn's confident that it won't take too long, but they're not going to tell me anything more until they've spoken to him."

Sybil frowns "Why's that? She's usually pretty good at keeping you up to date at every stage."

He offers a grimace in return. "I think she's worried that I'm going to hang around Kennington police station to try and see him. Remember, she's given assurances that if there's a lover who's innocent, they'll keep his anonymity. Well that includes from our family, so they'll only let me know when they've decided whether or not to charge him with anything."

Sybil chews nervously on her thumb for a moment as she nods in understanding, before exhaling loudly. "Well, it's good news of sort, I guess."

"We'll see. I'm trying not to get my hopes up."

There's a brief silence before Tom begins to walk across the room towards her.

"Sorry" he says.

"What for?" she asks curiously, before his arms encircle her and any train of thought comes to an abrupt end by his lips pressing enthusiastically down on hers.

"For not doing this the second I came off the phone" he mutters huskily and she smiles while she squeezes his torso and provides unequivocal forgiveness with another kiss.

"Emma's our priority, we said that. Never apologise, we're in agreement that she comes first."

He cups a hand around her cheek and draws his face marginally away, those piercing blue eyes studying her intently and offering silent appreciation for her understanding and support.

"Thank you" he murmurs and Sybil feels as if the first impediment of their new relationship has been eschewed for at least the time being.

ooOoo

Tom spots Kieran waiting on the concourse at Lime Street station and the sight of his elder brother brings an immediate sensation of both comfort and familiarity, making him instantly furious with himself for having unnecessarily delayed their reunion on more than one occasion. The two are not usually demonstrative with one another, but as their hands clasp together in greeting, they instinctively move forward in unison, reaching round for a brief, but heartfelt embrace.

"Good to see you Tom" Kieran mutters, his voice sounding thick with emotion and Tom nods, not trusting himself to speak, substituting instead with a reassuring pat on the small of his brother's back.

They travel by car to Kirby, the seaside suburb to which Kieran and Ali moved after their family expanded and the journey is punctuated by courteous questions from either side – about the investigation, the children, even the family back in Dublin. They're greeted warmly at the door by Kieran's wife, who embraces Tom and ushers him into their living room where five year old Sophia, dressed in a tutu and adorned by butterfly wings, hops from one foot to another with excitement. Her uncle has been a mythical presence in her life, mentioned frequently and included in stories from the past, but never appearing in the flesh. She's seen photographs of him of course - holding her awkwardly by the font during her christening and one of her sitting on his lap at her younger brother's own baptism. However, it took place two and a half years ago and she has no personal recollection of the event. The recent arrival of well received presents through the post at Christmas has ensured that he is currently held in high regard by both children, who eye his bulging rucksack with eager anticipation, not daring to verbalise their expectation of another gift, but bounding enthusiastically forward as he reaches to open it and a glimpse of brightly coloured wrapping paper is exposed.

"You're both very lucky – what do you say?" their mother gently reminds and he is happily rewarded by their well-rehearsed chorus of "Thank you Uncle Tom!"

As he settles back in the sofa with a cup of coffee, Sophia skips towards him, arms gently flapping up and down and her head tipped to one side.

"Would you like to see my dancing, Uncle Tom? I was in a show at Christmas!"

"Sophia, he's had a long journey sweetheart…" her mother gently admonishes, but Tom quickly shakes his head to curtail her line of thought.

"I'd _love_ to see it, Sophia. What were you, a fairy or an angel?"

His niece's frown makes it clear that she has yet to be awarded either privilege and folds her arms indignantly at his mistake.

"I was a _ladybird_" she retorts and her uncle raises his arms in self-reprimand.

"The most beautiful creature in the garden – of course! So show me how a ladybird dances then."

Sophia prances around the room with an expression of gratified self-importance, while the adults nod in grave appreciation and her younger brother, Jack watches solemnly from the sanctity of his toy garage in the corner of the room. As she proceeds, Tom is suddenly transported back almost twenty years, reminded of a similar incident in which Emma performed for her brothers during one of their brief visits to their mother's home. He remembers applauding enthusiastically at its conclusion and his sister climbing onto the sofa between the two of them, delighted by their attention and not wanting to be parted from them. The memory seems hollow after what has subsequently taken place and Tom struggles to remember how or indeed why their attachment to one another began to diminish. He knows that ultimately he is to blame for his long absences from her life. She was too young to be able to act otherwise and it had been his responsibility to ensure that he played a frequent and important role in her life while she grew up. Now he understands that there's a strong possibility that any efforts at compensation will be unachievable and he already feels a sense of grief at the mistaken actions he took during his troubled youth.

"Uncle Tom, are you crying?" Sophia asks with curiosity and he blinks rapidly to conceal his emotions, offering her a broad smile in deflection.

"Well only because of your beautiful dancing!" he declares, rewarded immediately by a dramatic curtsy of royal proportions, which relieves his tension and makes everyone laugh in unison.

Ali offers to take the children to the park in order to leave the brothers alone together, but Tom's keen to spend more time with his niece and nephew and defers the prospect of talking about anything of significance until the evening. He pushes Jack on the swing and tries to impress Sophia with his efforts on the monkey bars, but realises too late that he no longer has sufficient strength in his arms – either that or he's significantly heavier than he used to be – and drops to the ground with a sheepish shrug. The happy family atmosphere and childish focus makes a pleasant change and he's relieved to discover that he feels no disproportionate envy towards his brother's contented family life - only happiness, hoping that over time he might have the opportunity to experience something similar.

Even bundled up from head to foot in winter clothes, Sophia resembles her mother, but Jack has inherited the Branson blue eyes and there's something about the way he laughs which reminds Tom of his Da. It's a comforting thought and he finds himself wondering how a child that he and Sybil might create would appear. Quickly he checks himself – they've been together for little more than a week and he's allowing his imagination to run away with itself – yet he's already aware that in his mind at least, this is the most significant romantic relationship he's ever had and the very fact that he's even considering the prospect of their future proves the extent of its worth.

Not even Jack's abrupt switch to bad temper as he grows cold and a lengthy tantrum from Sophia when she isn't allowed to wear her tutu in the bath can reduce Tom's feeling of good-will at being included in their family unit and he offers to relieve a fraught Ali from the responsibility of cooking the adults' dinner. Carefully following her recipe for chicken cacciatore while he slowly sips a beer, he grins at his harassed looking brother as he briefly appears back downstairs on a hunt for Jack's stuffed lion, without which he is unable to sleep. Tom feels ridiculously pleased with himself when he locates the toy inside the oven of the children's toy kitchen and laughs while Kieran makes the sign of the cross with eyes raised aloft in exaggerated relief.

The children are worn out by their afternoon exertions in the park and go to sleep with only the minimum amount of fuss, leaving the adults to enjoy a convivial meal together, the brothers exchanging snippets of information about mutually known acquaintances in Dublin and amusing Ali with some of the happier escapades from their childhood. It's only ten o'clock when she makes her excuses, citing exhaustion, but in reality they all understand that she wants the brothers to have some time together alone.

"Have you given up smoking?" Kieran asks as he pours Tom a whiskey and they settle in the living room, enjoying the comforting heat provided by the woodburning stove.

"I'm trying very hard to cut down, but no I haven't given up completely."

"Right, I've only just realised that you haven't had one since you arrived."

"I didn't bring any, so don't let me go out and buy some! You've managed to stay off them then? I think you'd given up about six months or so before I last saw you."

Kieran gives a rueful smile. "Ali would kill me if I went back to it now. I used one of those e-cigarette things, that's what helped me kick it completely."

Tom wrinkles his nose. "They look so…" he pauses in order to search for the most appropriate word but fails "…poncey!"

His brother laughs out loud. "I didn't realise you were so worried about your masculinity, Tom! They worked, that's all I cared about – reduced the craving bit by bit. So who are you trying to impress then?"

Tom looks at him quizzically before Kieran elaborates. "You only ever try and give up when you've got a non-smoking girlfriend. So what's her name?"

"Sybil"

Kieran's eyebrows rise abruptly and he opens his mouth in surprise.

"What, _the_ Lady Sybil you mean?"

"She doesn't use her title, the press have just dragged it all up and the police are using it to try and get the public's attention focussed on the case."

"Still…talk about close to home!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tom snaps, feeling instinctively defensive, but Kieran's friendly smile swiftly supresses any anger.

"Your sister's flatmate, that's all. Did it start before Emma disappeared?"

"No it's been going on for precisely nine days actually." He can't help but grin with amusement at Kieran's rapidly changing facial expressions. "And anyway, she's _our_ sister." He didn't mean it as a reproach, but his brother looks so immediately ashamed that Tom regrets the way he's steered their way to this inevitable conversation.

"I really wish I'd kept in touch with her now…I know you find that fairly pitiful, considering I made no effort whatsoever when she was around." Kieran swirls his glass as he speaks, avoiding Tom's empathetic gaze.

"No I don't and I'm sorry about what I said to you before Christmas, I was under a lot of pressure at the time. I've got my own regrets, I can assure you."

"But you _did_ keep contact with her - always. You'd seen her since she'd been in London, I don't see why you need to feel guilty in any way."

"It was only down to her efforts, I barely ever got in touch, probably not at all since I moved away from Dublin. I've been so self-obsessed that I think I just parcelled her up with my resentment at Mam and didn't think of her as a separate entity. Do you know, she left a message for me two weeks before she went missing and I never even bothered to ring her back – I lie awake thinking about that some nights."

Kieran looks at him with a pained expression. "I know things are always different when you're a kid, but we both really loved her when she was little, didn't we? I mean, even after Mam and Da split up, we'd be desperate to go over and see her. How the fuck did we go from that to ignoring her completely? And how must it have made her feel?"

"Badly enough to go and see a shrink about it."

"Yeah, you said." Kieran says quietly and his regret is clearly visible. "I never meant to hurt her, you know. I just wanted Mam out of my life and as you say, they kind of came as a package."

"I know"

"But that was no excuse for me not trying to get in contact again after she left home."

"Well there's nothing we can do about the past anymore."

"But does she have a future? I mean, do you really think she's still alive?"

Tom leans back on the sofa with a heavy sigh. "Some days I think there's not a chance in hell, but then on others I remember cases in which people have been found after a significant amount of time and I think that yes, it's definitely still possible."

"I'm telling you, I'd do anything to have an opportunity to make amends in some way."

Tom hesitates for a moment. "You can…not with Emma for the time being, but in another way."

Kieran tips his head with curiosity before Tom clarifies. "With Amy."

There's an audible sigh from his brother, who nods his head slowly, but pauses before offering a response. "I guess I've as good as forgotten about her over the years."

"I think we both have to a certain extent. I mean, obviously I've seen her from time to time, but I can't say that I've taken much notice of her until recently."

"It doesn't feel as if she's our sister, I suppose. I've never lived in the same house as her and I'm practically old enough to be her father."

"But she_ is_ our sister. It may only be half a link, but she's our flesh and blood regardless and I think she's desperate to form a connection with us, just like Emma has been over the years."

Kieran blinks rapidly in contemplation and reaches out to stroke the family's cat who appears silently beside him on the arm of his chair. "I've never resented her as such, I mean it isn't her fault who her parents are and in fact, I seem to remember she was quite a sweet kid when she was little. But I've never felt that connection with her…"

"…I think that's as much a generational thing as anything else" Tom interrupts and Kieran shrugs.

"I don't know. I resent her father I guess, that doesn't help and I've no time for her mother."

"_Our_ mother" Tom reminds him gently and is shocked to see tears suddenly spring in his brother's eyes.

"Without a maternal bone in her body." Kieran's voice is etched with bitterness and Tom can't help but feel that his choice to cut all ties has done little to help his brother come to terms with their family dynamics.

"That's not true. She's an unhappy woman for many reasons, but you know…I do think she cares about us in her own way. She just seems incapable of expressing it. Her habitual emotion is disappointment and she has no idea how to go about changing."

"Well I'm not sure how I make a connection with Amy without having to get in contact with Mam again and I don't think I can face that. Maybe I'll have to wait until she's left home."

Tom takes a deep breath as he carefully considers how to steer the conversation forward. "You know, five months ago I'd have agreed with you and been happy to put it all off – tell myself that I had good intentions but that now isn't the right time. But Emma disappearing has made me realise that you have to act now, not later. Otherwise it might be too late." He scratches his head. "I'm not saying that Amy's going to go missing as well. But something else might happen in her life which leads her to decide that she won't or can't be bothered with us anymore and personally speaking, I don't want that on my conscience. I'm not going to lie to you and say we're now as thick as thieves, because of course we're not. I'm nineteen years older than her and live in a different country, but we had a good chat the last time I was in Dublin and we've been emailing one another. It's small steps, that's all."

"But you had a foundation to build on in the first place…" Kieran replies "…I haven't seen her for what? Almost nine years now. And I still can't face going back to Mam's, it feels like I'd be just going backwards."

"Well, being estranged from her doesn't appear to have helped you move forwards either, if you don't mind me saying."

He watches his brother's eyes narrow and hurries to clarify. "The very thought of her still seems to upset you, so nothing's changed in that respect. Maybe you need to just make your peace with her. I'm not saying you should be a dutiful son with a weekly phone call and visits home – I don't really think she deserves that from either of us. But she's the only mother that either of us is ever going to have, so perhaps it's just a case of coming to terms with the situation and accepting her as she is."

"Is that what you've done?" Kieran asks with an undercurrent of hostility in his tone. "Because all I've seen is you get angrier and more withdrawn over the years, gradually cutting yourself off from everyone and drowning your sorrows in booze. That doesn't seem to be coming to terms with it, if you ask me."

"Well things are changing, I guess…I hope. Emma going missing has made me put a lot of things into perspective and Sybil's helped as well."

"What, in nine days?" his brother asks incredulously and Tom can't help but smile.

"No. We've been good friends since the day Emma disappeared. Things have only developed further recently…" he pauses and decides to omit the story of their first romantic encounter. There's no need for anybody else to know and Sybil's already given the impression that she'd prefer to forget it ever took place. "…but she's been a good morale builder and helped me see things a bit differently. I've started to realise that it's not all my fault and that my parents don't have to define my entire life."

"I've built a good life here…a happy life." Kieran reflects solemnly and Tom nods in agreement.

"Exactly, despite everything that happened when we were children! You've built a life, got the love of a good woman and two fantastic kids, so you should have nothing to fear from a sad and bitter middle aged woman. You can show her what you've made of yourself, I mean of course she won't congratulate you for it, but deep down I reckon she'll dwell on it and realise what you've achieved."

Kieran's eyes are closed and he rubs his forehead in a similar manner to Tom's habitual stress reliever.

"I'm saying do it for yourself Kieran, not for her. And for Amy as well, so she understands that she's got someone else on her side when things get tough. I mean, I think David's a good enough Dad and all that, but I don't believe she's had an idyllic childhood either. You and I had each other, but Emma was out on a limb and I don't want Amy also ending up going to see a shrink in a few years' time because she's trying to come to terms with two brothers who have never wanted anything to do with her."

Kieran's silent and his lack of dispute leads Tom to believe that he's touched a nerve. He isn't naïve enough to think that his brother is going to undo an eight and half year resolve over the course of one evening, but he hopes that he's given him food for thought and that some form of appeasement might take place over time.

His judgement is finally substantiated when Kieran emits a deep sigh, lifts the previously contented cat onto his lap and gives a sharp nod in Tom's direction.

"I'll give it some thought."

ooOoo

Tom sits in Dawn Pulliver's office early on Monday morning, having received a message from her during his train journey home from Liverpool the previous evening.

"So you said you're not charging him, but clearly there's something more to it, or you wouldn't have asked me to come in?" he asks levelly. There's a air of tension in the room and DS Khan has joined them, which only goes to prove that this is not simply a routine update.

Dawn nods solemnly and places her hands flat on the table before her. "You appreciate that I can't give you details about who he is, don't you?"

Tom offers a firm nod. "Can you tell me how you traced him? Just for my own curiosity, that's all."

"His car registration. They'd signed in under false names, but the car was traced to his company and they provided his name. It was fairly simple."

"And you're confident that he doesn't know anything about Emma's disappearance?"

"Yes." Dawn meets his eye and he spots her look of empathy. "I promise you that we've exhausted all enquiries and we're convinced that he's innocent. He has a cast-iron alibi for the day she disappeared – he was at the other end of the country at a conference – and we can't find any hint of a motive."

"What about his wife?" Tom asks and Dawn shakes her head.

"She didn't know anything about it…although she does now. I looks as is he was trying to cover his own back by not coming forward beforehand. Obviously he was aware of the press coverage and he seemed genuinely distressed by the thought that something might have happened to Emma. But cowardice prevented him from eliminating himself from our enquiries in the early days and resulted in plain clothes detectives arriving at his house at 7am last Wednesday."

"How long had it been going on?"

"A few months. Since she arrived in London. She was supposed to meet him the day after she went missing. He thought that she had stood him up and then of course, he saw the papers a few days later and realised what had happened."

"So how did they meet?" Tom can't help being curious about this other life that Emma has kept hidden from all of her friends and acquaintances, but DS Khan puts pay to any further questions of that nature.

"We can't give you the details, Tom, I'm sorry. We've given him our word that he will remain anonymous. All I can tell you is that he owned the UK Pay As You Go phone that we'd highlighted, so we can now eliminate that outstanding issue from our enquiries. He'd purchased it solely for contacting Emma but had made her promise never to send incriminating messages on it. That's why they were simply all quite functional – arrangements to meet and that kind of thing. He could have explained it to his wife as something to do with work if need be."

"So what did _Just_ mean? That's what Emma had stored in her phone against that number. Did you decipher that?"

Dawn and DS Khan begin to shake their heads in unison, "We can't tell you that Tom" but he has a sudden brainwave and the rapid change in Dawn's expression when he asks "Is his name Justin by any chance?" immediately verifies that he's hit the nail on the head.

"Tom, I am warning you now – do _not_, under any circumstance, try to track him down." Dawn responds sternly and he gives her his word. He's lost any interest in the idea of challenging his sister's suitors. She's no innocent party in these relationships and he has no desire to make her life even more difficult than necessary, should she still return.

"However…" DS Khan interjects. "…he was able to provide us with some other interesting information, which substantiated our earlier held belief that there was another lover in Hong Kong."

"I find it incredible that nobody knew that she'd even been out there! None of her friends or family or colleagues." Tom declares, but Dawn shakes her head.

"There's no suggestion that she necessarily did. It seems that she taunted…" she tips her head to one side and offers a rueful smile. "…_Justin_, with the knowledge that he was not her only lover. Justin appears to have been wholly infatuated with her and Emma took advantage of that, by letting him know that he was not the only man in her life."

"So how did she know him?"

"We're not sure. It seems that he is a Westerner, who's based out there, but who comes over to London fairly regularly and that's when she sees him. We're not sure how long it had been going on, but the very fact that she was in contact with him within the first few days she came to London and obtained a UK phone, leads us to believe that it probably began while she was still in Dublin."

Tom can't even begin to imagine the complications of keeping these relationships secret from family and friends, nor does he currently wish to dwell on the reasons behind Emma choosing to conduct affairs with married men. Although there's no proof at this stage that her Hong Kong liaison was illicit, the very fact that she kept it to herself seems to indicate that he was not in a position to want to make their association public in any way.

DS Khan interrupts his quiet contemplation with a gentle clearing of his throat. "Obviously, this gentleman may also be entirely innocent of any wrong-doing in respect of Emma's disappearance, but it's the only potential lead that we currently have and for that reason, we feel that we should act on it and concentrate on trying to trace him."

Tom nods. "Of course, but I mean, you'd already made some initial enquiries out there via the local police, hadn't you and nobody came forward?"

"It was fairly limited, to be honest. We didn't have much to go on and although in many ways, we still don't, we can present what little information we have and make it appear as if it's only the tip of the iceberg, so to speak."

"So are you going to go out there now?" Tom asks and DS Khan provides confirmation of their proposed plan of action.

"We'd like to do another press conference, try to get the ex-pat community's interest and possibly arrange a TV interview on an English language station."

"Right and is that just you, or do you want me to come with you?"

Dawn smiles at him. "We'd definitely like you to take part if you're willing? It would make a big difference to have a family member with us to make a more emotional connection."

"Of course! Anything that might help."

"And Sybil. Do you think she would be prepared to come as well?" He hadn't expected this suggestion, despite her taking part in their recent press conference. She would have to take time off work and he's still musing on the logistical nature of the request, when Dawn continues with an air of discomfiture.

"Look, I'm not suggesting she comes along simply to make up the numbers. I want to use her title, that's going to be the hook to get people's interest. I mean, an Irish girl going missing in London – well I'm not sure of how much interest that's going to generate, regardless of the Hong Kong connection. But an Irish girl who shared a flat with an English Earl's daughter - now that's another matter."

"Right" He understands the direction in which Dawn is heading and as Emma's brother, will grasp at any advantage presented to them. However, he is also fully aware at how uncomfortable Sybil is with the sudden publicity regarding her family and that she is hoping any interest in her will swiftly disperse. As her boyfriend – and the very mention of that word in respect of Sybil instinctively makes him want to break into a broad grin – he wants to protect her from any additional worry or unease, yet he knows that fundamentally she will not deny the investigation any further request in their attempt to find Emma.

"What do you think her opinion will be, I know the two of you are close?" As far as he is aware, Dawn has no idea about the recent change to their relationship and he has no intention of bringing it to her attention, but she's picked up on their growing friendship and he is grateful that she's asking for his opinion.

"Well she'll have some reservations, I think. It's caused her a few problems, particularly at work. Most of her colleagues had no idea about her family background and quite a few patients now recognise her, which can be awkward at times. But having said that, I know she wants do anything to help, so I'm pretty sure that she'll agree."

DS Khan slaps the table with conviction. "Good! So we'll make some arrangements and then finalise dates with you both. It won't happen overnight, but I'd like to think we could get out there within the next week to ten days, unless you know of any reason why that can't happen?"

Tom has no objection and within minutes he's making the short walk to Sybil's flat, where she's preparing to go to sleep after her night shift, to let her know what has been proposed.


	17. Chapter 17

_**I know that the website had problems last week when I posted the last chapter because a couple of people let me know that they had problems leaving a review. If you tried but were unsuccessful, then thank you anyway! **_

_**Disclaimer – I have been to Hong Kong but the last time was 19 years ago so I apologise if there are any factual errors. My guide book is over 20 years old and therefore equally as out of date as my memory!**_

* * *

Tom and Sybil meet at Heathrow Airport for their flight to Hong Kong. It's an evening departure and Sybil works an early shift beforehand in order minimise the amount of leave she has to use, so travels directly from the hospital. She's in WH Smith as arranged, perusing the chocolate bars after having picked up a newspaper, when she feels an arm curl gently around her waist and turns in anticipation to see a smiling Tom standing by her side.

"I'll have a fruit and nut, please" he says, nodding towards the rack and she obliges, chewing her lower lip in thought before she makes her own final decision.

"Hmmm…it's a tough call" he adds with a smirk and her face instinctively breaks into a wide grin at his teasing.

Their purchases complete, they check in and are pleasantly surprised to discover that the Metropolitan Police budget has stretched to business class seats. Dawn Pulliver and Bryan Lynch have flown out 24 hours earlier in order to finalise arrangements for the proposed press conference and TV interview and they'll convene with them at the hotel on arrival. Boarding cards in hand and luggage dispatched, they stroll towards the departure gate and Sybil feels a familiar twinge of anxiety at the prospect of the taking off process. Recalling the deep breathing exercises she has used with limited success in the past, her gait alters and Tom takes notice of her changing demeanour.

"OK?" he asks with concern and she nods, attempting a confident smile, but he stops in his tracks and turns to her with a frown.

"I'll hold your hand throughout the flight if that's any help? I can eat one-handed!"

She appreciates the sentiment, but can only manage a grimace in response. "It's only the take-off; I'll be fine once we're up there."

"Do you want a gin and tonic or something before we board, might help calm your nerves a little?"

She smiles. "I doubt it, but it sounds good anyway. Thank you for understanding, I'm sorry to be so silly."

Tom replies with a firm shake of his head. "There's nothing silly in confronting a fear. Lots of people won't even get on a plane, but you do it regardless. I'd say that's courageous."

Her thumb rises to her mouth for a habitual gnaw, before she thinks better of it and reaches forward to lightly touch his hand.

"Anyway, thank you."

"Oh come here" he says and reaches forward, drawing her into a comforting hug and squeezing her tightly. She mirrors his gesture, looking up at him with gratitude, her stomach now lurching equally with anxiety and affection. For the duration of only a few seconds, their eyes lock and standing wholly absorbed with one another, they fail to notice the paparazzi photographer only 50 metres away, who bored after a fruitless day searching for departing actors and pop stars, recognises them both and quietly takes a shot which he hopes might ease his current financial woes.

ooOoo

Sybil's flown in the upper echelons of aircraft on previous occasions with her family, but it's a novelty for Tom, who eagerly accepts any offering provided by the cabin crew and conducts a thorough investigation of all the television and audio channels before settling back contentedly in his seat. As promised, he holds Sybil's hand while the plane slowly reaches its optimum height before raising his eyebrows at her selection of _Hello_ magazine from a smiling stewardess.

"It's my guilty pleasure" she admits with a smile. "Just like when I go to the hairdressers, I wouldn't actually buy it!"

"If you say so. I expect you know half of them in there anyway - Lord and Lady Whatnot!" He attempts an expression of disdain, but there's an underlying smile which lets her know that he is not serious.

"Occasionally, but not often. Look, I bought a copy of _The Economist_ in the hospital shop earlier, does that balance it out?"

He reaches into his own bag, pulling out an identical edition and they exchange knowing smiles at their similar tastes and opinions. Sybil's finding it very difficult to restrain from physical contact, no matter how limited and has to remind herself of their vow to maintain a platonic manner with one another within public view.

"If I tell you that I'm still scared, will you hold my hand again?" she whispers, although her suggestive manner makes it clear that this is not the case and he grins in retaliation, leaning towards her and planting a brief, but firm kiss on her lips, before accepting her proffered hand and giving it a squeeze.

They have recommenced their reading, when Tom pauses and turns towards her once again.

"Sophia rang me again yesterday evening, that's the third time this week. Ali says that she asks to ring me every day, but they're rationing it."

Although he's nodding impassively, Sybil can see the corners of his mouth twitching slightly and knows that in reality, he's gratified by this change to his relationship with Kieran's family.

"Are you her favourite uncle now then?" she asks with a smile.

"Seem to be. It doesn't seem very fair on Ali's brother, who she sees every week but there you go. I'm sure someone else will be flavour of the month soon, kids are fickle aren't they?"

"You must have been very good with her while you were up there?"

Tom shrugs his shoulders and glances away. "Dunno. I don't really know much about children, I hardly know any. I just played with her a bit and asked her about school and her dancing, that's all."

Sybil's familiarity with childish habits stems solely from her job; there are no young children within the Crawley family and none of her childhood or medical school friends have yet started a family. She's always presumed that one day, she'll begin one of her own, although she knows that she would want to feel entirely settled in a relationship before she ever seriously considers it and has no idealised timeframe in mind. Yet she's suddenly curious about Tom's own viewpoint, knowing as she reflects that this is a very early point in their relationship to suggest any implication of its potential relevance to her. In her mind, his previous moody and sometimes temperamental demeanour always masked the softer element of his personality and now that she sees more of the considerate and humorous man which lies beneath, she can imagine him goofing around with his niece and nephew and being receptive to their juvenile enthusiasm.

"I suppose people just learn as they go along when they have them…" she begins tentatively "…I wouldn't really know what I was doing if I had a child."

"I guess so. Me neither." He doesn't appear to have picked up on any underlying curiosity behind her question and is smiling amiably throughout.

"So do you find it odd to see your brother in such a domestic setting, do you think it's changed him?"

Tom pauses a moment while he considers. "He's still the same deep down, but his priorities have changed, which is understandable. I think it's made him more laid-back. It suits him, to be honest."

She's trying very hard to pose her questions neutrally and avoids eye contact in the hope that he won't grasp the pertinence of her interest.

"I just wondered if the two of you thought that you might never have children…whether you were at all put off because of your own experiences?"

He seems surprised by this concept and initially offers only a brief shrug in response, before appearing to give it some thought and elaborating. "I can't speak for Kieran, but I think I've always presumed that I won't have any. But that's only because I've been so crap at relationships, rather than any conscious decision to avoid making the same mistakes as my parents. But on the other hand, looking at Sophia and Jack, it makes you realise that you _can_ move away from your past and provide a better future." His answer satisfies Sybil for the time being and she caresses his hand, but Tom continues to reflect.

"I've been envious of Kieran having that level of contentment with his family though, I realise that now. Now that I've seen him again, I'm just pleased for him, but I think before now I've resented his general happiness and that's partly why I've put off going up to visit earlier. I told myself that it works both ways, but I can see how all-encompassing it is with kids that age and that it's difficult for him to get away, so the onus was on me to travel there and I didn't."

"Well you have now" Sybil reminds, not wanting him to slip into habitual self-criticism and disappointment.

He nods in agreement. "Yes and I'm definitely not going to leave it two and a half years next time. I'll try and go up again in a couple of months or so. Um, perhaps…" His voice takes on a lighter, less confident tone. "…you might like to come with me next time?"

Sybil's heart leaps at the suggestion, providing evidence that he foresees their relationship enduring and wants her to meet a member of his family. Regardless of his previous declaration that he wanted it to work, she has the customary feelings of self-doubt and anxiety which stem from any new love affair. At times she feels weighed down by the responsibility of trying to boost Tom's self-esteem and in doing so has a tendency to forget that her own confidence requires frequent tending as they forge their new and tentative path together.

"I'd love to" she replies and takes the opportunity of his cheek being in close proximity to offer a gentle kiss.

ooOoo

It's early evening, local time when they touch down at Chek Lap Kok Airport. By the time they travel to their hotel and have a brief meeting with Dawn and Bryan, both are feeling exhausted. Neither slept for more than three or four hours on the flight and they're each anxious to feel refreshed and alert for the two full days they have in Hong Kong. Unaware of their new relationship status, Dawn has arranged separate rooms, but Tom abandons his and shares with Sybil. The physical attraction they feel for one another has not diminished, but now they have arrived, the motivation for their journey becomes their priority and there's no feeling of blithe enjoyment at being alone together in a hotel. Sybil can tell by his furrowed brow and air of distraction that Tom's feeling the strain of what they hope to achieve by this visit and the playful mood he displayed on the flight has disappeared for the time being.

The press conference and television interview have been arranged for their second day and Dawn suggests that they convene late the following afternoon to discuss the finer details of preparing for each event. She and Bryan have scheduled a meeting at the television station, having already conducted interviews at the local office of Emma and Gwen's firm, so she makes a light-hearted suggestion that Sybil and Tom take a few hours to explore before the purpose of their visit commences. Sybil nods with a non-committal smile, knowing full well that Tom has other plans in place. He's been in touch with the Managing Director of the local office and also wants an opportunity to speak to the two employees whose initials match the details in Emma's phone, as well as an Irish colleague, who briefly worked with his sister before transferring overseas.

"It's not that I'm undermining Dawn and Bryan" he reiterates to Sybil as they leave the hotel the following morning. "I'm sure they've been utterly thorough and if they're satisfied that there's no connection, then it's correct. But I'd just feel more settled if I could eliminate them in my own mind and anyway, I'd like a chance to chat to anyone who knows her, as this Matt guy apparently does."

Sybil once spent a summer backpacking around Thailand with Gwen, so she's not wholly unfamiliar with the non-western world. Nevertheless, she finds the bustle and noise of Kowloon's streets fascinating. Tiny open-fronted spice shops are squeezed between modern stores, while men sit crouching on their haunches at the entrance, chewing and chatting while appearing oblivious to her curious observation. High above, washing hangs precariously out of apartments, and impassive faces lean out watching the proceedings below.

Although she's used to the density of traffic in central London, its noise is incomparable to Hong Kong. Horns are used frequently and at high volume, while bikes and motorised rickshaws weave in and out of the road, leaving little room for margin of error. Fascinated by her surroundings, she bumps into to people three times within a matter of minutes and Tom places his hand under her elbow for guidance. Two blocks away, they turn into a business district and although the traffic noise remains unaltered, the absence of shops leaves the pavements instantly less cluttered. Pedestrians in office attire walk with increased purpose, mobile phones and take-away drinks are firmly grasped and the sleek high rise offices which adorn either side of the road make Sybil feel as if she could now be in the City of London or Manhattan. The weather is mild in comparison to home and she soon feels warm in her winter coat, pausing momentarily to remove it so that she doesn't begin the day feeling sweaty and harassed.

On arrival, they are ushered into the Managing Director's office, who welcomes them with a friendly smile.

"I'm James Matthews, good to meet you both." Sybil estimates that he's in his early to mid-forties, with an expensive haircut sprinkled with grey and a suit to match both its price and colour. His English accent implies a Home Counties upbringing, although she spots the intonation which disguises a less privileged background to hers.

"Please take a seat" he says warmly "Look, can I just start by saying how desperately sorry we all are about Emma's disappearance. It's really shaken everyone here and throughout the firm, I can assure you."

"Thank you" Tom replies. "I really appreciate you letting us come in today. I know the police have already interviewed people and I want to assure you that I'm not replicating that process. As I said in my email, I'd like to speak to Matt Leary who briefly knew my sister in Dublin and a couple of other people as well. It's for my own peace of mind, not as any form of investigation."

"Of course" James replies smoothly. "I'm curious about why you want to speak to Theo and Tai though, because the police have interviewed both of them twice now and as far as I'm aware, neither of them knew or had anything to do with Emma."

Information about the initials stored in Emma's phone has never been made public and Sybil has no idea whether or not the two staff members whose names matched have been advised why they have been singled out. However, she's certain that Tom will have no wish to divulge any further details without Dawn's permission.

"It's an association, that's all. We know she has a friend in Hong Kong, but we haven't been able to trace who it is. I can't tell you any more than that, I'm sorry. They're not under any suspicion."

"I understand"

"How long have you lived out here?" Sybil asks in an attempt to be friendly and James turns to her with an approachable smile.

"Almost eighteen years now. I worked for another consultancy and was transferred to their office here, then moved to this job about five years ago."

"So you must feel very at home here now" she suggests and he nods.

"Well of course there are some things that you miss – live cricket, an English pub, the Kent countryside where I'm originally from, but my children were both born here and don't really know anywhere else, so we're pretty settled. I'm lucky that my job means I get to travel quite a bit, so I'm in London three or four times a year and have a chance to visit my mother and friends quite frequently."

"So do you go to the London office while you're there? Did you ever meet Emma?"

"I did actually." he replies to their surprise. "I was there around Easter time and did a presentation for some of the junior staff about the work patterns in this region. She asked a couple of very pertinent questions and that's why I recognised her when the news first broke. There's always a sea of faces at these types of things, but sometimes one or two stand out and she certainly did that day. She was very bright and astute."

They engage in polite conversation for a further few minutes, before a long pause leads Tom to suggest that they take up no more of his time.

"It's no problem." James assures. "Look I'll be here for another hour or so, then I've got to go out for a meeting, but if you need anything, just shout. I'll introduce you to my PA on the way out and she'll get you tea, coffee, or whatever you need. We even have PG Tips!" he adds with a smile. "Come on, I'll show you to the meeting room we've reserved for you."

They express their heartfelt thanks for his co-operation and he's about to leave them when he hesitates at the door. "Look, I know you're not here for a social reason, but I'm having a drinks party for some staff tomorrow night and you'd be very welcome to come along if you'd like to."

Taken by surprise, Tom and Sybil hesitate, glancing at one another to try and gauge a reaction. James seems untroubled by their indecision and reaches into his jacket pocket to draw out a business card.

"It's at my house, which is on Victoria Peak" he explains, pulling out a pen and writing an address on the card. "It's just something I do every couple of months or so as a kind of team building exercise, but it's not all business talk, I promise. We've got some wonderful views of the harbour and there'll be plenty of drinks and food. Any time after 8pm, but I'll leave it up to you. I completely understand if you don't want to. Just give the taxi driver this card if you decide to come along."

Following James' departure, Tom uses the internal telephone to contact Theo Johansson, a Swedish employee who has been in Hong Kong for three years. Tall and blond, with chiseled features that could make him a poster boy for the Swedish Tourist Board, he's clearly unnerved by their request for a discussion, explaining in a defensive manner that he has never met Emma and had never heard her name mentioned prior to her disappearance.

"Have you ever been to the London office?" Tom asks brightly.

"Yes, once. About eighteen months ago, but I didn't meet Emma Branson. I'm telling you that I had never heard her name until we were told that she was missing."

"No well she wasn't working in London then. What about the Dublin office?"

"I've never been to Dublin, no."

"Ah, you should, it's a wonderful city!" Tom jokes, but Theo's expression displays no reciprocal amusement.

"I don't understand why you think I might know her!" he repeats with obvious frustration. "The English and Irish police officers asked me yesterday, the Hong Kong police came to speak to me last year, soon after she disappeared. Why can't you tell me what you've found to make you think that I knew her?"

"Why do you say knew and not know?" interrupts Sybil and Theo visibly blanches at her question.

"Knew, know? I'm sorry but I'm not English, I'm Swedish. It's not my mother tongue! Do you think that I had something to do with her disappearance? I didn't mean anything when I said that!"

Tom attempts to pacify him. "Of course not, Sybil was just curious. Look I'm sorry to worry you. There's a strong possibility that Emma might have had regular contact with somebody in this office but it is by no means suggested that he or she is connected with her going missing. We'd just like to speak to whoever knew her, that's all."

"Well it isn't me."

"That's fine. We appreciate you coming in to chat to us, Theo and we're sorry to have caused you any anxiety or inconvenience."

"Am I allowed to go now?" he snaps and Tom holds up his hands with a smile.

"Of course. I apologise for keeping you."

After Theo's departure, they have a short conversation with Tai Jie, a Hong Kong national. She appears equally bewildered by the potential belief of her involvement, but is eloquent in her denial of ever having met Emma. Of her own volition, she provides copies of two email conversations that the women once exchanged, neither of which offer any insight to a relationship beyond cordial professionalism.

Finally they meet Emma's former colleague Matt Leary, whose broad shoulders and crooked nose indicate a youth spent predominately on the rugby pitch. There's a confident strut to his step and after shaking hands, he leans back in his chair, legs apart and slowly runs his hand through his hair, smiling at Sybil in what she feels is a predatory manner. The icy cold glare of Tom's expression lets her know that he is equally aware of her impression and she attempts to deflect from this with an upbeat tone of voice.

"So, Matt. You worked with Emma in Dublin we understand?"

For a brief second, Matt's face clouds with displeasure, before he displays the full glare of his whitened teeth and smiles. "Yeah, we overlapped for a few months before I came out here."

"And did you know her very well?"

"Well we were colleagues, what can I say?"

Sybil hears the light sigh indicating Tom's irritation and presses on regardless.

"Well I just mean, did you know her socially at all, or just from the office?"

"I've been in the pub at the same time as her, but I can't say she and I spent much time together."

"And did you ever work with her on a particular project?"

There's a brief pause. "Yes, but she was the most junior member of that team, she'd only just started. I wouldn't say she really _worked_ on it."

"What do you mean by that?" Tom asks, making no effort to hide his displeasure at Matt's responses.

Appearing to appreciate the poor impression he's making, Matt attempts a winning smile and holds out his hands in appeasement.

"Look, it was her first project. She was there to learn, she didn't exactly have much input. Enthusiasm yes, but she was fairly green around the ears, if you know what I mean? Everyone has to start somewhere, I'm sure she built up some experience. If they picked her for the London internship, they must have thought highly of her."

"But you didn't?" Tom asks coldly

"I wasn't team leader so my opinion had no relevance. Look, I'm very sorry that she's gone missing, I wish her no harm and I hope she comes back safely."

"Did you ever hear her mention anything about a Hong Kong connection?" Sybil asks. "When it was known that you were transferring, did she ever say anything that indicated she knows the region, or that she had friends here?"

"No, I can't say she did."

"Do you remember her saying anything at all about your move?"

He nods. "She was interested, yes. Asked a couple of questions about the interview and job spec. I got the impression she was pretty ambitious and hoped she'd have the chance to move abroad with the firm at some point in the future. But I don't remember her ever saying anything to indicate that she has a connection here." He tips his head to one side, marginally narrowing his eyes. "Obviously she does though, or you wouldn't be here. So do you think someone here is responsible, or knows something about where she is?"

"We know she had a friend out here, yes. It might have no relevance whatsoever, but the police would like to eliminate them from their enquiries, that's why we're here."

To Sybil's consternation, Matt offers a light laugh. "Isn't that what they always say?"

"Meaning what?" Tom asks with a hint of menace to his tone.

"It's the polite way of saying 'we think you did it' isn't it?"

"I think you've been watching too many movies, Matt." he replies firmly.

"Maybe." Matt laughs again. "Anyway, I'm afraid that I know nothing about it whatsoever. I've not spoken to her since the day I left the Dublin office. I did go and visit about six months ago when I was home on holiday, but I think she'd gone by then. I don't remember seeing her."

"You've had no contact at all?"

"No."

"How many phones do you own?"

He seems momentarily thrown by the question. "Um…just one. Well no, two I suppose. I've still got an Irish one but I don't use it here."

"Do you have a contract here, or do you use Pay as You Go?"

"I've got a contract. It's a work phone, I don't know much about the contract I'm afraid, you'd have to ask HR. Look, I understand why you're asking all these questions, but I don't know anything about it all, OK?"

"But if you thought of something, you'd let us know?" Sybil asks, leaning forward and offering what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

"Of course."

"Well you've been very helpful, thank you" she replies and holds out her hand to signify that their conversation has come to an end.

As the door closes, she turns to Tom with a roll of her eyes and smiles at his low, but audible "Arsehole" as the door closes.

"Well he certainly likes himself!" she says grinning.

"He doesn't like Emma though, does he?" Tom says with a frown. "I think that's the first person that I've met who doesn't speak well of her."

"I expect she turned him down." Sybil adds and raises her eyebrows at Tom's expression of surprise. "Oh come on, he thinks he's God's gift! I bet he tried it on with her, she rejected him and that's why he talks about her with disdain. His ego was unusually bruised and he can't bring himself to say anything nice about her. I don't think he knows anything, he's just enjoying being the subject of attention."

Tom offers a wry smile at this confident declaration. "You've got us all sorted out, haven't you?"

"I've got him wrapped up, that's for sure! I know you wanted to find something here, but I haven't picked up on anything, have you?"

"No" he admits reluctantly, closing his folder with a sigh. "I've ticked them all off in my head so there's no point in hanging around. Shall we go and get some lunch and then we can have a wander around before we go and meet Dawn and Bryan?"

They're in a noodle bar nearby, aimed at the surrounding international business clientele rather than providing any genuine attempt at authentic cuisine, when Tom receives a text message from his friend Nick.

**Check the Daily Mail website, you're on today's front page – N**

Sybil tenses in anticipation as he brings up the website on his phone, his face visibly taut with stress.

"Fuck!" he mutters, throwing the phone across the table towards her before standing up and striding away towards the back of the restaurant. Squinting under the artificial lighting, Sybil can see a photograph of the two of them, arms wrapped around one another, their faces close together and smiling. The location is indistinguishable, but by their clothing she guesses that it must have been taken at Heathrow Airport. Underneath lies the headline:

_**Without a care in the world – Emma's brother romances Lady Sybil**_

Scrolling down, she begins to read the article, the author of which has made no effort to investigate the purpose of their journey.

_The two seemed wholly absorbed in one another before jetting off together to an unknown destination. A source close to the couple told us "They've spent a great deal of time together since Emma disappeared and have become very close."_

"That's really unfair!" she wails and is aware of Tom reappearing before her, his foot tapping furiously on the tiled floor. "I think it was taken when you were trying to comfort me about the flight, it really had nothing to do with us as a couple. And they've made it sound as if we're just going off on some romantic holiday together and are abandoning the investigation!"

"Oh they don't let a little matter of the truth stand in their way!" Tom snaps. "Not when this makes a better story."

"And who is this supposed source?"

"Fuck knows" he mutters. "Probably nobody, I should think they've made it up."

Sybil's irritated by the unwelcome publicity and affronted by the manner in which their image has been manipulated. But the truth is that she's relieved in many ways not to have to hide their relationship anymore and believes that it was only a matter of time before the situation was exposed.

"Oh well" she sighs and gives an exaggerated shrug. Tom's face clouds with ire and he picks up the phone again, scrolling further and handing it back to her.

"Oh well?" he mimics. "Now take a look at all the readers' lovely comments underneath!"

She doesn't need to read them in detail, a brief glance at the first few provides all she needs to know about the general public's lack of generosity, particularly when hidden behind a veil of anonymity. She spots one charitable entry of support, but most are either full of misguided judgement or malicious defamation.

"Well I don't really care what complete strangers think about me anyway." she declares, pushing the phone back towards him and watching him shake his head in fury.

"Of course not, but I do care that this is what's going to be in the papers for the next few days, rather than Emma's case. They'll print one line about us being in Hong Kong tomorrow and the rest will be more salacious gossip!"

Fellow diners on neighbouring tables are taking an interest in their conversation so Sybil gathers her coat, indicating with her head that they should step outside for any further discussion. Tom's still muttering and swearing under his breath, seemingly unable to look at the issue with any element of objectivity and she reaches out to him as they pass through the door, resting a hand on his arm in silent support. Immediately he shakes it off and turns towards her with a steely glare.

"This is _exactly_ what I didn't want to happen!" he says sharply and she nods in empathy.

"I know"

"_Exactly _why I thought we shouldn't get together! Why it would be wrong!" His words silence her instantly, cutting deeply into her emotions and leaving her feeling raw. She understands that he's angry and that he hasn't expressly stated that he regrets their decision, but the implication lies hanging over them nonetheless. It takes every inch of her self-restraint not to answer with a sharp retort, appreciating that there is nothing to be gained by each of them saying things that they may subsequently regret.

"I'm sorry you think that" she says quietly, maintaining eye contact in an effort to sound stronger than she currently feels and willing the tears she can feel brewing to stay away. He appears to realise the impact of his words and shakes his head in self-admonishment.

"I'm not saying that we shouldn't have…it's just that…oh fuck, I don't know what I mean any more!"

"Let's go back to the hotel and talk it through" she suggests, but he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

"I need to think…I need a fag…I need to be on my own for a bit."

"OK"

"I just can't sit somewhere Sybil, I feel like my head's bursting!"

"I said OK, whatever you need - it's fine. I'll meet you later. Go and calm down." Sybil can't help but feel that some time apart is the best immediate solution. A separation at least means that she will be spared any further wounding declarations for the time being and she hopes that he'll have an opportunity to put the situation into perspective.

Without any further acknowledgement, Tom strides away and she observes the disappearing figure, his hand reaching into his coat for cigarettes before he turns a corner and is out of sight. Suddenly Sybil feels very cold and her stomach is lurching unpleasantly. The traffic noise is abruptly magnified and she can sense the first indication of a nagging headache. She's not in possession of a map, but knows the general direction of the harbour and begins to walk steadily towards it. Regardless of her current emotional turmoil, she can't deny that it's an impressive sight. Large commercial boats vie for space alongside smaller fishing vessels and the famous two tiered Star Ferry service makes its steady way across to the imposing Hong Kong Island. It's a hive of activity, with little room for error, yet boats appear to be guided by their own set of rules and glide effortlessly around one another. The sight of skyscrapers and commercial activity on the Island is dwarfed by the majestic Victoria Peak above and Sybil remembers their invitation to James Matthews' home there the following evening.

She understands Tom's frustration at one small token of affection being magnified for the gratuitous delight of the general public, yet she's also aware that to him this is not simply a personal affront, nor a barrier to the investigation's success. He's fighting more than righteous injustice, or indeed embarrassment at being front page news, but she would rather he takes time to come to terms with whatever demon he's challenging, rather than feel unable to adequately articulate it within the confines of a hotel room. The latter is only likely to breed resentment and harsh words, leading to irreparable damage between the two of them. She has her own conflicting emotions to deal with in the meantime, ensuring that she doesn't dwell on his suggestion that they should have remained apart, but instead focusing on the positive elements of their relationship and concentrating on what they have travelled to achieve in tomorrow's conference and interview. So she sits on a bench facing the harbour, admiring its view and trying to restrain the occasional sensation of panic which rises from her chest into her throat when she considers the potential worst case scenario of Tom's reflection.

After an hour's quiet contemplation, she makes her way back to the hotel in preparation for the meeting with Dawn and Bryan, wondering if Tom will return to join them or whether she will have to provide a plausible excuse for his absence. With a heavy heart she enters the lift and gazes expressionlessly at her own subdued reflection while it rises, exiting with a sigh and turning in the direction of her room.

"I'm sorry" His voice makes her jump and she spins around to see Tom sitting on a chair behind her, close to the lift. To begin with she offers only a tense grimace, observing him carefully to gauge his subsequent reaction, but feels instinctively more hopeful as he shrugs his shoulders with a wry smile and repeats his opening statement.

"I'm an arsehole" he concludes.

"No you're not. Are you coming in?" she asks lightly, tipping her head towards the bedroom door and he nods, rising slowly to his feet and following her.

Taking her coat off and switching on the small kettle, she attempts to keep busy, curbing the avalanche of questions she has contained in her head. But he doesn't speak and eventually she turns to face him, watching him hover awkwardly near the door and feeling an element of irritation at such inactivity.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she eventually asks and he exhales loudly with a nod.

"I'm really sorry…"

"It's OK. You were upset. We both were. It's better to go and think about it separately, rather than say things we might then regret."

"I got myself in a state, sometimes I wonder if I get panic attacks, I felt like I couldn't breathe."

"Well yes, it's possible. If you can resolve it by yourself with some thinking and deep breathing, then that's a good thing…" she stops and gives a light laugh "…sorry, that's the doctor in me talking there."

"It's not just that we're moving Emma off the main story, that's not why I got so uptight."

She doesn't reply but meets his gaze in the hope that he will elaborate of his own accord, watching him rub his forehead in frustration as he contemplates how to adequately explain his point of view.

"It's….I know you said that Emma would be pleased for us, but I just feel like I'm letting her down…" His voice cracks and he sits heavily on the bed, resting his head in his hands and Sybil automatically moves beside him. Although her every instinct leads her to want to take him in her arms, she knows to tread carefully and not lead him to feel in any way suffocated by her concern and affection. Instead she rests a palm on his back and gently strokes the hair which has fallen down over the hands resting on his forehead.

"You are _not_ letting her down. If she's aware of how much you're doing for her, if she's ever made aware…I think she'll be overwhelmed by it all."

"But I _have_ let her down, all through her life and I think I've started to see this investigation as being my redemption. I feel as if it should be the main focus of my life and by being with you, it's deflecting from it." Sybil opens her mouth to offer her conflicting point of view, but he silences her with a raised hand. "But I _do_ want to be with you, I don't want you to think I regret it. Honestly, from that side of things, I've never been happier."

"Well that's good to know" she replies with a weak smile, still wondering if he will subsequently deliver a killer blow to deflect from such sentiment.

"But now suddenly we're in the public eye and that's what the British and Irish public are going to be interested in – Emma's disappearance is old news and we're the new. Just as we're over here and about to focus on the only potential lead the police have and I just felt like it was my fault…" He waves a hand around in the air."…no, no I know it isn't, but I'm just trying to explain to you why I panicked and went off like that. But I went down to the harbour…"

"So did I" she can't help but interrupt and he smiles at her, a heartfelt and spontaneous look which makes her believe for the first time that there might be a positive outlook to this scenario after all.

"I know. I saw you from a distance. That helped actually. I could see how sad I'd made you and I remembered what you said about us being allowed to be happy. And then after a while I could think a bit more clearly and of course, I wish we weren't on the front page of the _Daily Mail…_" He provides a sardonic snort before continuing. "…in fact I'd rather be on the front page of _any_ other paper, but there you have it - we are and there's nothing we can do about it now. I don't want to throw what we've got away, so I hope you haven't changed your mind – I wouldn't blame you if you have."

"Of course I haven't" and she leans forward to gently kiss him.

"I had visions of coming back and you giving me my marching orders."

"It would take more than that, I can assure you."

"Well thank you for just letting me go off and not trying to come with me."

"It's OK to want to be on your own for a while, you know. We all need that sometimes. I didn't take that personally, it was your suggestion that we shouldn't be together which hurt."

"I didn't mean that, I promise. Nothing's changed in that respect."

"Good. Well don't ever think that you've got to be with me all the time and can't go off and have time by yourself. I wouldn't want you to ever feel restricted. It's good to have your own space from time to time, it doesn't reflect on how much we still care about the other person."

He takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Is this one of your helpful hints on how to sustain a healthy, functional relationship?"

For a moment she believes she's struck the wrong note and her face falls. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound patronising…"

"…You didn't" he interrupts quickly. "Honestly, I need that kind of guidance. I'm out of my depth with healthy, functional relationships, I'm not quite sure how they work. You're my beacon."

He leans forward to meet her lips while his hand reaches up to caress the side of her head. "God I've struck lucky with you…" he mutters.

"Do _not_ say that you don't deserve it…."

"But I don't…"

"Tom…." She warns and he flashes a quick grin.

"Another helpful hint?"

"A helpful order in this case."

"OK, point taken. Are we late to meet Dawn and Bryan now?"

"Yes."

He rises to his feet, taking her hand and pulling her firmly up to meet him. Reaching up for a lingering kiss, she wraps her arms tightly around his neck and within the depths of their embrace, detects a hint of promise to help cement their future.


	18. Chapter 18

Tom can tell by Dawn's raised eyebrows and firmly folded arms as they approach, that she is already aware of the _Daily Mail_ headline so preparing for the worst, he mentally rehearses an apologetic, yet defiant response. Any regret he retains about the issue relates to Emma rather than the police and he doesn't see why they should appear in any way ashamed.

"Got anything to tell me?" she asks, glancing back and forth between the two of them, her mouth offering an unexpected twitch of amusement.

"Look, I'm sorry but we didn't think it was relevant, or indeed anybody's business but our own. We're still getting our heads around it ourselves to be honest." He sits down opposite her, nodding at Bryan who shakes his head rapidly as if he wants nothing to do with the conversation.

"It's only been about three weeks." Sybil adds anxiously. "Please don't think we've been keeping quiet for months on end."

Surprisingly Dawn smiles at them both. "Well it _is_ my business if it deflects from my investigation, but in all honesty, anything that keeps Emma's case in the public's mind back home is good news as far as I'm concerned." She tips her head in a conciliatory fashion. "Less favourable for you two I'm afraid, but you should be used to the press taking an interest by now. I'd have preferred not to be informed by my colleagues in London, because it makes it appear as if I'm not on top of my own case. But anyway, good luck to you both – I'm not exactly surprised, by the way!"

Tom smiles with unexpected gratitude and can't help but be amused by the pink blush gradually rising in Sybil's cheeks.

"You are going to get asked about this tomorrow, you realise that, don't you?" Dawn continues and Tom narrows his eyes with irritation.

"Can't you ask them to avoid the topic? It's not relevant to the case."

"I can, but it's difficult to justify the television interview without some kind of link to engage the public. It's a human interest story."

"And a young woman vanishing in broad daylight doesn't provide enough of an interest?"

"Not really, no. Not when it happened in London and this is an interview taking place in Hong Kong. Also, we have to mention that we have reason to believe that Emma had a lover here, we can't simply pretend that it's a friend. I really feel that we need to be upfront about that now - put some pressure on him, whoever he is."

"And will they mention the Irish politician and this Justin guy?"

"Please don't say his name out loud, Tom."

"Sorry, but I'm concerned that Emma's reputation is getting trashed here."

"I'm afraid it's already in poor shape, there's not a lot we can do about that. We have no definitive proof of this Irish politician, it's only speculation at the moment, but yes I've already confirmed that she had a British lover who's been eliminated from our enquiries. People will make their own judgement, but I think you'll find that a lot of people won't really care about an unorthodox love life."

"But plenty will, especially in Ireland."

"That's as maybe, but my priority is to find her, or at least someone who knows where she is. To a certain extent, it's a case of 'Emma's reputation – be damned.' I can't protect her and realistically find her at the same time." Dawn sighs and twists a ballpoint pen rhythmically around around her fingers in thought.

"With both of your permission, I'd like to concede to one question about the House of Grantham and one about your relationship – just a confirmation, no details. How does that sound?"

Tom and Sybil exchange silent glances and the latter shrugs her shoulders in concession to the request.

The following morning, the press conference arranged in a meeting room within their hotel is a short-lived and rather anti-climactic affair. Only a handful of journalists attend and interest in the case seems limited in comparison to their previous experiences in both Dublin and London. Dawn appears unconcerned, assuring Tom and Sybil that the most relevant newspapers are in attendance and that their target audience of ex-pats and fellow westerners is satisfactorily covered.

The television interview takes place on the edge of Kowloon, home to the region's main English language station and is led by Valerie Lung, one of their most popular and well known presenters. Tom estimates that she's no more than a year or two older than him, immaculately dressed in a tailored, salmon coloured shift dress and killer high heels to match. She offers a friendly welcome to them both, her long, glossy mane of dark brown hair swinging forward in time with an enthusiastically offered handshake.

She's surprisingly girlish in nature, greeting them with a giggling apology." Sorry, I haven't been into make-up yet – I'll look far more together in a bit!" before turning to speak to her floor manager who is hovering nearby with a clipboard.

Sybil is unusually speechless and Tom flashes a brief grin in her direction. 'Christ, what's she going to look like when she's together?' he wonders and doesn't require telepathy to know that Sybil's having a similar thought.

By the time they have visited the make-up room and been fitted with microphones, there's only a few minutes to discuss the running order before they commence. The programme isn't being broadcast live, but they have a tight schedule with little opportunity to re-film. Valerie appears accustomed to reassuring nervous guests, unused to the bright lights and imposing array of background staff off camera. Dawn and Bryan are standing among them, close to the Producer and ready to interject if questions prove inappropriate or incriminating.

With consummate professionalism, Valerie makes her introduction to camera. The interview will be broadcast within a live current affairs show, to be shown later the same evening, but the impression is given that no pre-recording has taken place and Valerie smoothly conducts a link from the supposed previous segment. To begin with she revisits the circumstances of Emma's disappearance, introducing Tom and Sybil but allowing them time to become accustomed to their unfamiliar surroundings before the questions begin. Sybil is introduced with reverence as Lady Sybil Crawley, daughter of the Earl of Grantham and Tom knows that it's taking every ounce of self-control for her not to roll her eyes at such veneration. The circumstances behind their visit to the region are explained and Valerie poses her first question of substance.

"Were you aware of Emma's relationship with a man in Hong Kong, Lady Sybil?"

Sybil shakes her head, before clearing her throat quietly and adding "No, she never mentioned anyone."

"And it's now known that prior to her disappearance, she had an on-going relationship with another man in London. Did you know about that?"

"No, I didn't."

"So she didn't bring him to your home, or explain that she was going to meet a lover?"

"No, but she didn't act in a secretive manner. She nearly always gave me an explanation about where she was going at the weekends, or out in the evening. It's only since she disappeared that I've discovered that many of them were false."

"So she lied to you?"

Sybil hesitates briefly. "Um, yes, I suppose so."

"And there has been a suggestion that she also had an affair with an Irish politician before she moved to London, did you know anything about that?"

"No, but we don't have any proof that it's true. It's an allegation, that's all but the police haven't found anything to back it up and nobody's come forward."

"At the point she disappeared, Lady Sybil, would you have described the two of you as close?"

"Well…" there's another pause and Tom has to concentrate in order to refrain from reaching over to provide tactile reassurance. "We got on very well, but no I wouldn't have said we were particularly close. I didn't know her before she moved into the flat you see – she swapped places with my previous flatmate, who took the opposing internship in Dublin. So we didn't have any shared history. But she was very easy to get along with and we had a relaxed friendship with one another."

"Did you spend much of your free time together?"

"On and off. I showed her around London a bit when she first arrived, she came out a couple of times with me and my friends and of course we spent evenings in the flat together – watched TV, sometimes ate together, shared a bottle of wine and chatted about this and that."

"But you didn't share confidences with one another?"

"No, not really."

"Do you feel as if she's betrayed your trust, Lady Sybil?" The question seems to startle Sybil, who visibly tenses, her chin rising.

"No I don't. I think she must have had her reasons for not telling me about her relationships. I don't believe that she was, by nature, a deceitful person. If you talk to her friends and colleagues, they all speak very highly of her. But for whatever reason, she had relationships with men that she felt she couldn't, or perhaps shouldn't divulge. I don't judge her for that and I hope other people won't too."

Tom's heart swells with pride at this loyal defence and he gives an involuntary smile, causing Valerie to lead seamlessly to her next topic.

"And so Tom - you and Sybil didn't know one another before Emma went missing?"

"Um no." Inwardly he chastises himself for the automatic hesitation of phrase. He's watched enough TV interviews to know how weak and ineffective it sounds, making him appear the victim instead of his sister. "We had met very briefly once, that's all."

"But since she disappeared, you've been together a great deal and over the course of time, have fallen in love, is that right?"

Tom would like nothing more than to slide down under the seat with embarrassment and daren't even steal a brief glance towards Sybil. Neither of them has ever mentioned that word within the context of their relationship and he's certainly not going to start giving it any consideration while appearing on television. He can feel the palms of his hands becoming clammy and his shirt starting to stick to his spine. Valerie is smiling at him kindly, but there's a steely glint in her eye which indicates a sense of triumph that she's put him on the spot in this way.

"We have started seeing each other, yes. But I don't think it's really relevant to the case."

Valerie ignores Dawn's concessional stipulation of one question on the subject and presses on regardless.

"What do you believe Emma would think about the two of you being together, if she was aware?"

"I think she'd be both amused and delighted." he replies firmly. "Shall we move on?"

With a hint of satisfaction, Valerie touches lightly on the past. Their parents' divorce and respective childhoods spent in different homes is now old news and she's been asked not to raise the subject of Kieran's estrangement from their mother, regardless of its repercussions on Emma's life.

"Did you see Emma frequently after she arrived in London, Tom?"

"I didn't no. Only twice before she disappeared." He speaks slowly and calmly, despite the familiar feelings of shame and regret rising within him.

"Why was that? Did you not get on particularly well?"

He has expected this line of questioning and mentally prepared an objective reply. While the temptation towards self-condemnation remains, this opportunity is about making Emma the primary point of focus and not his efforts at redemption. "We did get on, but unfortunately life simply got in the way. I didn't make it a priority to catch up with her and obviously, given what's subsequently happened, that's something I wish had been different."

"But there had been no falling out or disagreements before she went missing?"

"No, not at all. I'd seen her about three months beforehand, we had a drink together in central London and it was all fine. I had no reason to be concerned about her and we parted on good terms."

"Do you feel, given what you've subsequently discovered about her, that you didn't really know her?"

"To a certain extent, yes. Although I'm not sure how many women would share details of their love lives with their elder brothers, to be honest."

"Really, you don't think that siblings confide in that way?"

"Some might. We never had. We're ten years apart in age and we didn't grow up together. We had a different type of relationship from the start than most people."

"But do you look at her in a different light now, as a result of what you've learned about her since?"

The question is pertinent, but he is determined not to comply with Valerie's attempt at judgement. He won't disparage Emma's reputation in the public domain, nor expose the discord within their relationship.

"I look at her as my little sister, who I haven't spent enough time with over the years and who has inexplicably disappeared."

Before Valerie can commence with another line of enquiry, Tom opens his mouth to continue and in the brief interlude, conjures up an image of Emma observing him with expectation. He no longer has any firm idea whether she is dead or alive, but the faith ingrained in him as a child means that he has retained at least some form of spiritual belief. Regardless of whether or not he will have an opportunity to see his sister in the flesh once again, his words are intended for her and he hopes that in whatever form it takes, they might at some point reach her.

"I don't judge her life in any way. I just want her home safely and to be given an opportunity to make up for lost time. I hope she knows how deeply people care about her and most importantly, how much she is loved."

For the time being, it's all he can offer.

ooOoo

Later that evening, having watched the show's broadcast with a mixture of fascination and discomfort from their hotel room, they cross the harbour by Star Ferry, then take a taxi to Victoria Peak. Dawn and Bryan are occupied at the local police station, dealing with any resulting information or enquiries about the investigation. They will remain in Hong Kong for another three days, but for the time being, Tom and Sybil are redundant and therefore decide to take advantage of James Matthews' invitation.

His house lies below the summit of Victoria Peak – a modern colonial style building with sweeping canopies and a porch encircling most of its external walls. An open gate to the side invites them to bypass the house and step into the sloping garden beyond, where thirty or so guests are already assembled, chatting casually and sipping their drinks. Lines of white fairy lights are strung up overhead and a white clothed table is positioned to one side, laden with ice buckets, all bulging with an array of drinks. Two bored looking teenage girls are carrying silver platters of canapés and one notices their arrival as she passes across the lawn.

"Are you looking for my Dad?" she asks in a cut glass English accent.

"Um…is your Dad James Matthews?" Tom replies hesitantly and she rolls her eyes as if the question had been absurd.

"I'll get him" she says without any further attempt at chivalry and Tom and Sybil exchange amused glances.

James Matthews appears moments later from the garden's lower level, casually dressed in chinos and blue shirt, his hand raised in greeting.

"You came!" he says brightly. "I wasn't sure whether or not you'd feel like it after today. I saw the interview, by the way. Very eloquent and heartfelt - well done. Let's cross our fingers and hope it now leads to something."

The nod their assent, exchanging inconsequential chat until James turns and calls out to one of his daughters.

"Phoebe, this is Tom and Sybil. Would you show them where to get something to drink and eat sweetheart please? They haven't been here before."

"Please excuse me for a bit…" he adds, "…I need to speak to a couple of the team about a project they're starting tomorrow, but make yourselves at home and I'll catch up with you both later on."

Phoebe leads them sullenly over to the table and with an audible sigh, asks them what they would like to drink.

"Don't worry" Sybil says with a smile. "We'll sort ourselves out from here. Thank you for your help." Phoebe needs no further encouragement and hurriedly makes her way towards the house, halted en-route by an older woman emerging from a door. Her honey coloured shoulder length hair and slim figure offer a youthful impression, but watching her face frown at Phoebe's inaudible retort, Tom spots a similarity between the two of them and guesses that she is James' wife.

Sybil passes him a beer and no longer feeling a need to provide any form of pretence, he takes her hand as they step forward to admire the impressive view - twinkling lights bobbing around the harbour, the towering silhouette of Kowloon lying beyond, surrounded by mountainous peaks.

"Christ, what have you got to be earning to afford a place up here, do you reckon?" Tom asks quietly. "It's supposed to be one of the most expensive locations in the world."

"I think we're both in the wrong job." Sybil replies drily and he nods.

"I mean I've seen Emma's bank balance so I know she's earning a lot more money than I was at her age, but still...it must be no comparison to what he's making. No wonder it's such a tough business to get into."

"I'd imagine they work silly hours at the top." says Sybil. "I wonder how much time James has to actually enjoy this view?"

"Yeah, you're right. He said he's away a lot and then there's lots of schmoozing and networking to do in the evenings, or putting on things like this. I guess he never really switches off. I wouldn't fancy it much."

"I can't imagine you wanting to schmooze anyone" she teases and he slips his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.

"Only you" he whispers and marvels at the way goose bumps appear on the back of her neck at his touch.

They're interrupted by the woman they saw earlier, who introduces herself as Melanie Matthews and, primed by her husband about their attendance, offers her condolences at the reason behind their visit.

"I hope Phoebe wasn't rude when you first arrived?" she asks tentatively. "The girls used to love helping out at these things when they were younger, but you know…" she grimaces. "Teenagers! It's no longer cool, I think."

"Nothing your parents do when you're a teenager is cool." Sybil says with a grin. "You're fighting a losing battle there, I'm afraid!"

Melanie has an ulterior motive for speaking to Sybil. She originates from Harrogate, although it's no longer possible to distinguish any hint of a regional accent in her tone, but she and Sybil commence an enthusiastic exchange of local knowledge – schools they attended, pubs and shops in the region, even discovering a tenuous connection despite a twenty year age gap. Melanie's cousin had a daughter in the school year above Sybil and they have plenty of shared theories on the woman in question's subsequent lack of direction in life. Tom excuses himself from the conversation to find a toilet and makes his way into the house, passing through the generously sized kitchen-diner where Phoebe and her sister halt their whispered discussion over the breakfast bar with immediate effect.

As he walks around the corner into a long corridor, he spots Theo Johansson emerging from a room, closing the door behind him and the two exchange courteous but wary nods of greeting. Tom enters the doorway and switching on the light, realises that in error, he's stepped into a study, its desk laden with piles of papers. Exiting without hesitation, he turns from switching off the light behind him and is about to recommence his search when James Matthews suddenly appears before him.

"What were you doing in there?" he snaps, making no attempt to disguise his fury. "How dare you go into my study!"

"I'm sorry, I was looking for the toilet. It was a mistake." Tom replies hastily, raising his hands to try and soothe the situation.

"How did you get in there?" James says coldly. "It was locked."

"Well, no it wasn't actually. I just saw someone come out of here so presumed it was the loo. I came straight out again." He'll offer Theo the benefit of doubt regarding a similar error and has no desire to apportion blame, nor unnecessarily transfer James' line of suspicion.

"Were you snooping?"

Tom is finding it hard to believe that this is the same affable and hospitable man who has welcomed them to both his office and home. His face is lined and drained of colour as he continues to stand directly before him, holding unyielding eye contact and offering a silent challenge.

"I have no reason to snoop in your office James, I can assure you." Tom speaks calmly, hoping to diffuse the tension, despite his growing feeling of alarm. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"But you're a journalist. It's what you do."

"Yes, but I'm not here as a journalist. I'm here as your guest. To admire the harbour views at your invitation and to thank you for your support yesterday in my attempts to find my sister. That's all." For another half a minute or so, the two men stand facing one another and Tom holds his gaze in defiance, trying to ignore his increasing desire to pee and feeling his heart race at such an unexpected confrontation.

"I didn't look at anything. It was an error." He reiterates and suddenly, without warning, the danger is over. James' face reverts to its previous genial disposition and he steps backwards with a smile.

"Sorry" he says and shakes his head in self-rebuke. "I've got a couple of big contracts in there and I know for a fact they're out on the desk. I could have sworn I locked it but perhaps one of my daughters has been in there. I'll go and have a word. It's my own fault for leaving the papers out and not locking them away." He places a hand on Tom's arm. "My apologies, Tom. The loo is down there on the right." He reaches into his pocket and draws out a key, stepping to one side and locking the study door before patting Tom's shoulder amiably and walking briskly away.

It's some considerable time before Tom's heartbeat reverts to its normal level and he can't help but shake his head in disbelief at such an unpleasant misunderstanding. After a successful location of the toilet, he wanders back outside, looking around him as he does so in the hope that he might meet James' eye and re-establish friendly contact. However, James is nowhere to be seen, while Sybil is standing in earnest conversation with Matt Leary. She doesn't appear to look in any way intimidated by his six foot frame towering above her, although Tom can't help but wonder whether she is being blinded by the Hollywood style gleam of his teeth.

"Everything OK?" he asks evenly as he strolls towards them.

Sybil turns around, breaking into a smile. "Yes, we were just chatting about Dublin and London."

Tom asks which suburb of Dublin Matt lived in before his transfer overseas and in a similar manner to Sybil and Melanie earlier, they exchange a couple of casual comments about mutually known pubs in the area. Tom can't help but instinctively dislike the man – his disparaging comments about Emma and the physical indications of flirtation displayed towards Sybil yesterday have done nothing to engage his interest in Matt's life. However, he doesn't wish to be in any way discourteous and outwardly at least, expresses polite curiosity.

"And do you know London much? Ever lived there?"

"No I haven't." Matt replies. "I've got a couple of friends based there, so I've visited a few times. I was over for work last March and then called in on holiday before I went home in July."

"You didn't mention that yesterday?" Tom says quickly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"You didn't ask!" replies Matt, rising to his full height and meeting Tom's sudden scrutiny with defiance.

"Well don't you think it might have been of interest? You said that you'd been to the Dublin office after Emma moved away, but you failed to mention that you'd visited the London office as well. Why is that?"

"Because I didn't visit the London office, that's why! I simply said that I was in London. I was working on a contract which originates here, for a company that just happens to also have an office in London and one in New York. I was auditing all three and I was based in their offices. I had no reason to go into the London office, I don't really know anyone who works there."

"Except Emma." Tom points out before Matt sighs with obvious frustration.

"We weren't friends, I told you that. Why would I want to see her?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"Look, I'm not her type, she made that abundantly clear. I didn't have any contact with her."

"And your visit in July, what did you do then?"

Matt is making no effort to hide his increasing irritation, rolling his eyes and waving his hands around as his voice rises in pitch. "I visited my two mates who live there, then flew on home to Dublin. OK? I did _not_ meet your sister, or see her, or speak to her. Christ Almighty, I know you want to find her, but you have got to just drop this!"

Tom can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction by the way he has rattled Matt and although he is reluctant to back down, he doesn't want to be the cause of further disquiet on James' property and have Sybil experience the embarrassment of being politely asked to leave.

"Fine. But you'll not mind if I tell the police about your travels then? They might just want to have a little chat with you tomorrow. Ask you to reiterate your explanation."

"By all means – be my guest!" Matt hisses before he strides away.

"Well isn't this just turning into a marvellous night!" Tom declares, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he begins to explain to Sybil what happened previously outside James' study.

"I suppose it's as we said earlier…" she offers generously "…he's under a huge amount of pressure with maybe millions of pounds worth of contracts at stake. Who knows what damage could be done if they were made public before they were complete?."

"Why would I be remotely interested in his contracts?"

"Well he doesn't know what kind of a journalist you are. Maybe he just thought you were being opportunistic?"

"He was pretty unpleasant about it for a while, I saw a completely different side to him."

"Tom" Sybil lays a hand on his arm and looks up at him with an amused smile. "I've seen a very different side of you once or twice if you remember? We're none of us perfect!"

"Ah, you always see the best in people" he replies with affection, leaning forward to give her a quick kiss.

"Actually I don't always. I think I'd struggle to see the best in your mother for a start, but I do try."

"Shall we just wait fifteen minutes so it doesn't look as if we're running away and then make our polite excuses and leave?"

"Before you fall out with anyone else you mean?"

"Exactly!"

ooOoo

Dawn is unimpressed by Tom's independent attempts at investigation and chastises him for making individual arrangements to interview witnesses, which she feels undermines her and Bryan's authority on the case. Nevertheless, he continues to feel uneasy by the way both Matt and James have behaved, given that each of them has visited London frequently over the last year and admit to having had contact with Emma at one point or another.

"We've already interviewed each of them" Dawn reiterates and he nods in acknowledgement, his eyes not leaving hers in silent appeal until she sighs and throws her hands up in the air. "Fine! We'll go and chat with both of them again. But honestly Tom, we've found nothing to suggest that either of them is Emma's mystery man. Our money's now on someone utterly unconnected with the firm. But we'll speak to them if it reassures you. Don't ever let it be said that we don't take these things seriously."

He has to take her word for it, he and Sybil are booked on a flight back to London the following morning. It's no surprise to discover photographers waiting in Sybil's street on her return – somebody's finally undertaken a little research, has found out where they've been and on what flight they will return. They're disappointed when Sybil arrives home from Heathrow alone and Tom's incensed to learn that they follow her to the tube station the following morning for her journey to work.

Tom receives a phone call from the _Daily Mail,_ offering an opportunity to 'tell their story'. They'll print two pages about Emma's case, provided that they can have photographs of Tom and Sybil together and quotes about their new relationship.

"You know how the British public enjoys a good love story! And a working class lad from Dublin with a member of the aristocracy – it's got all the markings of a Richard Curtis film!" the journalist declares. "Just a couple of hours of your time – you tell us how you found romance through all the heartache, let us have some pictures of you side by side on the sofa. We'll give your sister's disappearance extra coverage and then leave you alone."

"What, so sell my soul to the devil you mean?" Tom snaps.

"Come on, you're in the business – you know how it works!"

"Fuck off!"

Amanda contacts him with a similar request, although she sounds almost apologetic in her manner.

"You _are_ joking?" he replies and hears her laugh lightly down the telephone.

"Well you can't blame me for at least asking, Tom. Will you at least promise me first refusal once you've found Emma? I didn't really expect you to do a lovey-dovey interview beforehand."

"I'm not doing a lovey-dovey interview full stop and I really don't know if we're ever going to find her to be honest, Amanda."

There's silence as they both consider this implication and Amanda's voice appears unusually gentle in response.

"Well either way, I guess. I'm keeping everything crossed Tom. For Emma and for you. Your Lady Sybil seems lovely, I hope you'll make each other happy."

"You're not expecting me to be able to make her happy though, are you?" he can't help but add with unexpected acerbity and is surprised by her reply.

"I think personal tragedy changes people and not always for the worse. I honestly wish you nothing but happiness, Tom. Believe it or not, I actually think that you deserve it."

After two days back in the UK, Sybil has her allocated weekend off and although there's no sign of anyone observing when Tom arrives at her flat on Friday evening, the sight of three photographers waiting on the pavement the following morning means that somebody has let them know of his arrival. Sybil mutters that her money is on Mr Irwin on the ground floor, providing further evidence of her previous assertion that she doesn't always see the best in everyone, but her frustration at the situation is unmistakeable.

"Will they leave us alone if we just go out somewhere and give them an opportunity to take one photo, do you think?" she asks, curled up on the sofa in her pyjamas and clutching a large mug of tea to her chest.

"Possibly" he replies with a shrug. "Probably not though. Not until it's old news. They'll want a hand holding photo, then they'll be trying to get a kiss. God knows when they'd be satisfied – sex on the pavement?"

She gives an involuntary snort, her hand quickly covering her mouth to restrain the mouthful of tea which threatens to expel through amusement.

"Well that would keep us off the front page of the _Daily Mail_, but the _Daily Star_ would probably be delighted!"

"What we need…" he muses thoughtfully "…is to just have two or three days away until they've lost interest, but nowhere too public so we won't be spotted."

And that is how, five hours later, they find themselves sitting in Kieran and Ali's living room in Kirby, offering entwined apologies and gratitude for providing such short notice of their arrival. The family are all damp haired from their regular Saturday afternoon swim, but Tom's unexpected morning phone call has resulted in plenty of earlier activity.

"I've made fairy cakes!" Sophia declares, rushing towards them with a Hello Kitty tin clutched tightly in her arms.

"Let them get their coats off at least…" her father protests, but Tom and Sybil are already enthusing over her icing skills and happily munching on an excess of pink fondant.

"Are you my Auntie Sybil?" Sophia asks coyly and Sybil smiles at her, flicking her hair back over a shoulder in a way that Tom now knows means that she's not wholly comfortable with the question.

"Um…if you like. Or you can just call me Sybil, I don't mind. What would you prefer?"

"Auntie Sybil" Sophia replies with a firm nod.

"OK then."

"Because that means that you're going to marry Uncle Tom…" she announces confidently, beginning to carry her tin proudly back out towards the kitchen.

"Er…" Sybil and Tom respond in unison, trading awkward glances and Tom is gratified to note that although Sybil is blushing furiously, she's also beginning to laugh and at least doesn't appear to find the concept horrifying. He isn't certain of his own view on the topic at this point in time - doesn't feel as if he can look beyond next week at the moment while the investigation remains so open-ended. However, he acknowledges that even the lightest suggestion that he and Sybil may take such a step in the future is satisfying and only fuels his present feeling of contentment at being here with her and his brother together. There will be time for further reflection in the future, but in the meantime, it's Sophia who provides the last word on the subject.

"…and I have _never_ been a bridesmaid!"


	19. Chapter 19

_**I'm on a roll, so here's a second, albeit shorter chapter this week. Thank you as always for the reviews, especially to the recent guest reviewers who I can't contact personally.**_

* * *

Edith's visit is unexpected but Sybil is unequivocally delighted by her last minute change of plan.

"Sorry to ring with such short notice, but I'm in London today for work and I suddenly thought - why don't I go and see Sybil and head back first thing in the morning? So are you free this evening, can I stay?"

"Of course! Tom's coming over but we were only going to stay in and watch a film, so…"

"Oh goody, I can meet him. I was hoping I could!"

Edith's delight is infectious and Sybil simply warns Tom in a text that _'there's been a slight change of plan…'_, leaving him standing open-mouthed in surprise when her sister answers the door and greets him with an enthusiastic introduction.

"I was interviewing that Yorkshire lad who's starring in the big period drama on ITV you see…" she explains as he follows her inside "…he doesn't seem to come back home much anymore so I had to go and meet him in a swanky new private members' club on St. James' Street."

"Oh I love that show, was he nice?" Sybil cuts in and Edith wrinkles her nose with distaste.

"An absolute wally I'm afraid, but never mind. I shall flatter him appropriately in my article and his image will remain untarnished! Anyway, I was finished by half past two so I just thought that I'd phone Sybil on the off chance and hey presto, she was walking out of the hospital, so it was perfect!" She smiles at Tom with satisfaction before adding slyly. "So you haven't met Mary yet, have you?"

"No I haven't" he replies and appears startled by Edith's triumphant beam.

"Wonderful, she'll be so annoyed that I've met you first!"

"Is it a competition?" he asks drily and Sybil laughs.

"_Everything_ is a competition between Edith and Mary!"

Edith pouts briefly before her face breaks into another smile and she presses her hands together as if in prayer. "And in most cases she wins, so allow me this small victory, please."

Tom expels an easy laugh and Sybil's pleased to observe a relaxed exchange between the two of them. She can't help but feel that the visit is fortuitous - Edith is a comfortable first step into the forays of the Crawley family and might help soften any blow from the occasional sharp tongue of Mary or indeed her grandmother. Tom plies his trade in carefully constructed sentences, but her family can be intimidating at times and like any woman in a new and tentative relationship, she's anxious for Tom to feel welcome and accepted among them.

"I wish I'd thought to contact you before I left home…" Edith adds "…I've left your birthday present behind - I'll have to post it."

Tom's face immediately contorts into one of unease and Sybil excuses herself into the kitchen so that her sister can strategically let him know that her birthday is in three days' time. They have never discussed their respective dates, although she remembers Emma purchasing a present for Tom only weeks before she went missing and presumes therefore that his occurs during the summer months. Although she's usually enthusiastic about the opportunity to celebrate, it seems inappropriate this year with the weight of Emma's disappearance hovering indefinitely. Although Dawn and Bryan returned from Hong Kong in a positive frame of mind, no concrete leads have yet been established and she's learning to moderate her expectations about ensuing results. Her parents and sisters will inevitably contact her on the day itself with animated felicitations, but she's working an early shift and her only consideration towards self-indulgence is a possible meander around a couple of her favourite clothes shops during the afternoon.

The evening proves a success - Tom and Edith conduct an animated discussion about the merits of national versus regional newspapers and her sister entertains him with amusing anecdotes about their younger years, leaving Sybil at times shaking her head with embarrassment. As he carries plates out into the kitchen, he whispers that "Edith's great fun" and later in bed, his arms wrapped around her and mindful of Edith on the sofa bed next door, tells her quietly that "she's a lot more _'jolly hockey sticks'_ than you". It's true that Edith has never shied away from their family background, even using it to her advantage within her profession in a way that Sybil has never entertained. Yet her instinctively friendly nature makes her generally popular with most people and she retains a wry sense of irony over her often turbulent love life.

In consideration of their respective siblings, Sybil is pleased to have slotted another piece into the Branson family puzzle by meeting Kieran and is grateful to have been so warmly received. She and Tom barely left the house all weekend, escaping only briefly on Sunday morning to take the children to the park, their faces carefully disguised by hats and thick scarves. Kieran has managed to deflect most of the interest in Emma's case from his family and nobody bothered them during their short visit, leaving them free join in with the household's regular weekend activities. She's still picking glitter off the trousers she wore and only yesterday discovered a dubious looking shape of dried playdoh in her handbag. She appears to have become Sophia's new best friend and even Jack, traditionally slower to warm to incoming strangers, found her lap a comfort while they watched _'The Fox and the Hound'_ on Sunday afternoon.

From Tom's hesitant explanations, she knows that Kieran has battled his own demons in the past – in trouble with the police for fighting after their father died and a brief flirtation with drugs. However, he had the strength to take himself away from Dublin and the circumstances which caused him pain and in doing so has found comfort in the firm but loving arms of Ali and their children. Sybil isn't certain which brother has had the most success, if any, in eliminating the distress caused over the years by their mother. It's likely that neither can ever entirely be at peace with their history, but their sister's disappearance appears to have made each of them reflect on their family ties and regardless of the resolution, there is evidence of compromise from either side. The two discussed Amy over dinner one evening and Tom passed on her email address to his brother, although his reluctance to discuss their mother was plainly evident. With marked regret, Tom raised the possibility of having to acknowledge a six month anniversary of Emma's disappearance shortly and Kieran offered his assistance for the first time, suggesting that he could come down to London for a couple of days and help organise some publicity.

Sybil left Kirby on Monday with heartfelt affection for the family and was moved by both Kieran and Ali's earnest declarations that they would like to bring the children to London over the summer and have an opportunity to spend more time with them both. Sophia and Jack are only vaguely aware of the existence of their absent aunt and with the passing of time, her presence in their family seems ever more fictitious. Sybil hopes that they will have answers in one form or another before the summer passes, but she and Tom are becoming equally realistic about the possibility of it remaining indefinitely open-ended and that they may have to learn to live with the prospect.

The following morning, after Edith has made her early departure, Tom enquires whether Sybil has made any arrangements for her birthday and shopping plans aside, she confesses to none. He offers to take her out for dinner and suggests going back to the restaurant she likes in Covent Garden, where they ate together several months previously. She's working two consecutive late shifts and they later part without any intention to meet in the meantime. They've regained a comfortable pattern of speaking to one another most days, no longer falling back on the excuse of updates regarding the investigation, but simply enjoying the opportunity to chat and learn about the other's day. It's almost eleven when she returns home that evening and due to the lateness of the hour, she's surprised to receive a call from him soon afterwards. Its content is unexpected but ultimately not surprising – a junior cabinet minister in the Irish government has confessed to having had an affair with Emma, confronted after months of painstaking investigation by a journalist from the _Irish Daily Star._ The news will be made public on both sides of the Irish Sea tomorrow and the politician has issued a repentant statement in a desperate effort to minimise the scandal. Tom's voice is flat in tone as he relates the information and Sybil cautiously volunteers to travel up to Kentish Town in order to keep him company.

"I think I'd like to be on my own tonight, if you don't mind" he explains and while she's a little disappointed - she would take comfort from his embrace after the uncertainty felt by this recent development - she's pleased that he's now sufficiently at ease with her to be able to express his thoughts without creating an unnecessary drama.

She buys a newspaper in the morning and carefully observes the photograph of Gerald Duffy, standing outside his family's comfortable Killarney home, accompanied by his publicly supportive wife Gillian - although a fixed smile combined with the frosty gleam in her eyes indicates that she may be less compassionate within her domestic environment. He's handsome in a bland kind of way – early forties, a sharp side-parted haircut and remorseful brown eyes, but there's nothing on paper to indicate why Emma invested so much time in their affair, his minor position of power in government notwithstanding.

Gerald's statement is predictable – _swept away by madness, regretful of the indisputable hurt caused to my wife and young sons, a vow to restore the faith of my family and the general public._ He refers only briefly to Emma's predicament, expressing hope that she will be returned to her family unharmed and offering assurances that he has no knowledge of her whereabouts. Sybil's not certain how information relating to the necklace found in Emma's room ever reached the public domain, but Gerald admits to purchasing it as a Christmas present, as well as diamond earrings which Sybil had always presumed were fake.

Gillian Duffy's dignity experiences a further setback later that day when she is questioned by the Garda about involvement in Emma's disappearance. However she's released without charge within a few hours, photographed leaving the police station in distress and making no public comment.

Emma's reputation is once again notorious and internet opinion appears divided between condemnation and admiration. Tom appears resigned to the situation when they meet at the restaurant and makes a determined effort to keep his mood light on Sybil's special day. She's bought herself a new dress during the afternoon and is feeling self-conscious about the way it clings to her hips, but he tells her three times within the first ten minutes that she looks "totally gorgeous" and the expression of approval on his face indicates that he's not simply being courteous. He's bought her a couple of novels that she's had her eye on, a pretty bangle in the style she often wears which he believes matches the blue of her eyes and a gluttonously large box of Belgian chocolates that could tempt her to bypass a main course entirely. She's impressed by the thought he's put into the gifts and moved by the anxious way in which he anticipates her reaction on opening each package.

The meal maintains the high standards she's come to expect, they share a pleasant bottle of wine and chat comfortably, avoiding any mention of Emma or Gerald Duffy, but sharing information about their respective days and briefly discussing other items in the domestic news. Tom reluctantly pulls out an electronic cigarette from his pocket and confesses to being swayed against his better judgement by Kieran in an on-going effort to relinquish his nicotine habit.

"It looks bloody stupid…" he moans "…I'm hoping it will make the process quicker because I can't stand to be seen with one."

"It just looks like a cigarette to me" she protests innocently and laughs as he earnestly shakes his head in disagreement.

"I look like a teenager sucking on a straw!"

She can't help but notice that they attract the occasional curious stare from fellow diners and although nobody approaches them, is certain that the couple in her direct line of vision are discussing them. She hears Emma's name quietly mentioned and the woman blushes, looking swiftly away at the wall when she catches Sybil's defiant attempt to meet her eye.

Tom suggests going for a drink after they've finished their meal, but Sybil feels suddenly conspicuous amongst the general public and the thought of her cosy flat seems far more appealing.

It's only when they're home and she's rummaged through her currently meagre alcohol supply to pour them each a gin and tonic that Tom finally raises the subject they have avoided all evening.

"I keep thinking about this Gerald Duffy…" he says slowly "…and what it is about these married men that attracts Emma."

"Maybe it's the thrill of something illicit?" Sybil suggests "Or she's attracted by power? I mean we don't know what this Justin person does, or the Hong Kong lover, but maybe they have positions of authority and she was turned on by that?"

"I think it's something more basic than that to be honest. I mean, she had a perfectly ordinary boyfriend at uni, from what my mother and her friends say. There wasn't anything particularly powerful or authoritative about him and when he came forward to be interviewed last year, he was still teaching English in Europe. He doesn't seem the same type at all."

"So what then?" Sybil traces her finger around the rim of her glass and watches him wrestle with his thoughts, aware that he still feels at least partially responsible for his sister's decision making and actions.

"Dawn mentioned that Justin adored her. And this Gerald Duffy bought her obscenely expensive jewellery. I mean, he's comfortably off, but he doesn't come from money like some of his government cronies. I don't think he's rich." He pauses, glancing awkwardly at Sybil, seeming to suddenly recall her family background, so she shakes her head dismissively, encouraging him to continue.

"I think it's down to being adored, being sought after and appreciated - what her therapist mentioned. I don't think she was in love with any of them, or she wouldn't have been playing one off against another."

"Well if they were all married, then maybe she just thought she was within her rights to have another lover?"

"Perhaps. But don't you think that most women who have an affair with a married man would tell someone? Confide in one friend at least?"

"She did though - Fionnula Kennedy."

"I think she regretted that." Tom replies. "It was an alcohol fuelled slip that she wouldn't have normally entertained. Otherwise she seems to have told nobody and I think silence gives her a feeling of control. She hasn't been able to exercise any control over her family life, which has left her upset and disappointed, so secret affairs made her feel as she was in command of at least part of her own destiny."

"Or maybe she just knew deep down that it was wrong to be sleeping with other women's husbands and she didn't want her friends to judge her?" Sybil isn't suggesting that Tom's theory is wholly inaccurate, but once again it leads to a form of self-recrimination and she would prefer to try and guide him away from that train of thought.

"If my theory isn't correct, then I think she'd have told someone at least. Her friend Fiona before she went travelling perhaps? They're supposed to be pretty close."

"Well some people are just more private than others – not everyone wants to share their secrets. Would you?"

"No but I'm a man…"

"That's a very judgemental thing to say!" Sybil interrupts, her eyes widening with surprise.

"Maybe, but on the whole it's true I think. Women are better at confiding and I'm not saying that it's a bad thing. A problem shared is a problem halved and all that. I just feel that I failed her and…"

"Tom!" Sybil is close to shouting in her frustration. "_You _did not fail Emma, OK? Your parents failed her – they failed all of you. Your mother with her constant criticism and self-righteous judgement, your father with his alcoholism. They broke the family up and kept you separated from one another. I know it's not that black and white, but you're a product of those circumstances. And so are Kieran and Emma and somehow, you each have to find your contented path away from the past. You have to stop blaming yourself – Emma was responsible for the way she chose to live her life. Not you."

"I just wish that I'd been around more, that's all. I'm struggling to forgive myself for all the missed opportunities and I don't know how I move forward with that if she's never found."

"I know." Sybil takes his hand and strokes it gently with her thumb. "But you're not the first person to wish they could have a chance to do things differently and you won't be the last. If you have to, then you'll find a way to live with what has happened and what you can't change. You know I'll help you in whatever way I can."

"You already help in more ways than you can imagine, you know?" Tom says softly and Sybil leans slowly forward to press her lips gently to his.

"Well I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank God for that." Tom expels what sounds suspiciously like a sigh of satisfaction and Sybil is suddenly overwhelmed by the strength of her affection towards him. She'll never be able to wholly appreciate the anguish caused by his childhood, but she believes that he deserves the prospect of mirroring his brother in enjoying a happy and secure future. She's certain now that she wants to be with him throughout and makes a silent wish for their long-lasting and successful union. So absorbed in her contemplation, she is unaware of her visible expression of happiness until Tom meets her gaze and asks with a smile.

"What are you grinning at?"

Instantly she's flustered, wary of expressing the extent of her feelings for fear that she might drive him away. "Oh nothing…"

"It doesn't look like nothing to me – in fact you look mighty pleased with yourself, birthday girl!"

There's a moment's hesitation. "I don't want to freak you out." she whispers and watches his amused expression switch cautiously to a frown.

"Well…" he says carefully "…I don't think there's much you could say to me that would freak me out to be honest. Unless you're about to dump me but I'd like to think that you wouldn't be smiling if that was the case." He flashes a brief grin, but she can spot his underlying anxiety and in a hurried attempt to deflect from his instinctive unease, simply verbalises the thought running through her head.

"I love you" she says and with surprise, briefly considers how easily one's tongue can operate before the brain acts in adjacent symphony.

Tom's jaw drops slack and he stares wordlessly at her, his face expressing neither pleasure nor distaste. She's certain that she's overstepped the mark so early on in their relationship and feels the heat beginning to rise in her cheeks.

"I'm not expecting you to say it back or anything…" she hastily adds "…I mean, it's still pretty early days but you asked me…"

Her speech is curtailed by Tom's mouth on hers and the weight of his embrace as he moves across the sofa towards her. She has no expectations for a reciprocal declaration, is simply relieved that he has taken her unexpected announcement in such a positive manner and buries her head in his neck and shoulders while she waits for her blush to recede.

"I love you too" she hears him say.

ooOoo

At shortly after half past eight the following morning, the two of them happily entwined in a post-coital embrace, Tom's mobile phone rings. After concluding a brief but earnest conversation, he turns to Sybil – his face etched with tension.

"It's Dawn. She's coming here at nine o'clock."

"What? Why here?" Sybil asks in bewilderment, glancing around the room and taking in the sight of her new dress lying crumpled on the floor. "She hasn't been here since that very first time."

"Apparently she has something she needs to speak to me about." Tom's already up and retrieving his jeans. "Oh God, do you think they've cornered someone from the Hong Kong investigation?"

"Well it must be something pretty significant if she's making the effort to come and see you face to face."

Tom sits on the edge of the bed and takes a deep breath. "Calm…" she hears him whisper to himself in anticipation and feels proud of the efforts he's making at self-control.

Dawn arrives promptly, accompanied by a uniformed officer and declines Sybil's offer of a cup of tea.

"I'm going to get straight to the point" she explains, nodding her head to indicate that they should both sit down. "But firstly I want you to know that five families are being visited in this manner today, so nothing is certain at this point."

Sybil frowns in confusion, unclear as to why other families should be affected by Emma's disappearance but it soon becomes evident that Dawn's visit is unconnected to her Hong Kong enquiries.

"A body has been found just outside Brighton."

Sybil's head jerks backwards involuntarily and she has to blink rapidly in order to dispel the immediate rush which makes her sway in her seat with alarm. Dawn's sitting next to Tom on the sofa and she lays one hand gently on his knee. He's looking down at the floor and Sybil can't see the expression on his face. Her vision is blurred as she feels tears spring, but she hears Dawn's gentle voice as it continues.

"We are working very hard to identify her, but she's aged between eighteen and thirty and has been dead for between three and six months. There are five Caucasian women currently reported as missing who might fit into those categories, so as I say, we're letting all of their families know."

She clears her voice gently. "I promise that we'll keep you informed as soon as we know anything more, but Tom – I'm afraid that you need to prepare yourself and your family for the possibility that we might have found Emma."


	20. Chapter 20

Twenty nine and a half agonising hours pass before an outcome is declared. Looking back, Tom isn't certain how he managed to keep level-headed and calm during that excruciating period and wonders in reflection whether the terrifying uncertainty might be worse than its eventual realisation. However he knows without a doubt that it was Sybil who kept him sober.

If it wasn't for her, he would have undeniably reached for the bottle - using firstly the excuse to steady his nerves, next to numb his distress and turmoil, until finally all emotion was extinguished and any rational thought obliterated in unity. It is Sybil who guides him through the hours of anguish – talking, walking, cleaning, even persuading him to assist with making a cake - then holds him tightly throughout the night when sleep is futile and his darkest thoughts surface.

Initially he makes the decision not to tell his mother – he can't see why he needs to torment her when there is a strong statistical chance of it being in vain. Yet within an hour, Sybil locates a report of the gruesome discovery within the BBC news website and he knows that enquiries from either scurrilous journalists or well-meaning friends might pre-empt any official evidence. Regardless of the shortcomings she's displayed as precedent with her maternal attitude, Margaret's agony appears genuine. There is no sharp retort, nor a melodramatic wail - simply a brief gasp at the end of the line, followed by the heart-breaking sound of quiet, desperate sobs until she reluctantly relinquishes the phone to her husband and is led away.

Finally in the early hours of the following afternoon, Dawn once again arrives at Sybil's door with the news that the body has been identified as twenty eight year old Marina Lisowski, a Polish national who arrived in the UK two and a half years previously. Her husband Jerzy, having advised friends, family and colleagues that she left to visit a cousin in Canada four months earlier, is swiftly arrested and soon after charged with her murder. Five anxious families are reprieved, mindful that their joy is likely to be short-lived and that they are fated for another similar torment in the future, until their loved ones are finally located.

After the news is delivered, Tom smiles - overwhelmed with relief , momentarily unconcerned by the concept of another family's grief, grateful only for the respite awarded to his. It's Sybil who weeps, placing the palms of her hands over her eyes and expelling great gulping sobs, gasping for breath as she rocks back and forth on the chair. He's relieved to be in a position to offer mutual comfort and after Dawn's departure draws her close to him on the sofa, encircled by his arms until her composure returns and they begin to consider the dawn of horror now being faced by the Lisowski family.

In the dreadful aftermath, he hasn't had much opportunity to reflect on their exchanged declarations. Her announcement had taken him entirely by surprise and he regrets his initial hesitation, making her briefly believe that it was not reciprocated. He has only limited experience of being on the receiving end of such devotion. A former girlfriend, several years ago now, had made a similar declaration after only a few weeks together, a deposition which had seemed wholly out of place in the context of time they had spent together. He hadn't felt the same way and the silence afterwards had been excruciating for both parties. And Da had often expressed his affection in this way - Sybil is perceptive about the adoration he held for his children. When drunk it seemed meaningless - a lightly bandied comment to excuse or apologise for his misdemeanours - but he also remembers tender kisses to his forehead as he fell asleep, his father still holding the book he had been reading out loud – "I love you, son. Goodnight."

In all honesty, he isn't entirely certain that he _is_ in love – if you have never previously experienced it, then how can you _really_ know? Yet once the initial astonishment had passed, his words of mutual devotion were effortlessly expressed. She's the first person he thinks about when he wakes up in the morning and his last thought before sleep – she's usurped Emma in that respect – and the idea of their relationship ending causes such mental anguish that it's not something on which he allows himself to dwell. His heart often races with even the anticipation of seeing her and their physical relationship is more satisfying than any other he has experienced. Despite the unending distress of his sister's disappearance, he's happier in himself than he can ever remember and at his most content when he's with her. He's fumbling in the dark to a certain extent with this current state of mind but if there's a recipe for love, then he believes that he finally has all the correct ingredients in place.

ooOoo

Whether the grisly discovery near Brighton has finally brought the reality of her daughter's disappearance home, he isn't certain, but Margaret announces her intention to travel to London and see Emma's bedroom before her belongings are packed up in preparation for Gwen's return.

"But what about your hip?" he asks incredulously on being first presented with this unexpected declaration.

"Amy will come with me to help and David's going to organise wheelchair assistance at both ends. You'll come and pick me up at Heathrow won't you?"

"I don't actually own a car, Mam…" he hears a tell-tale sign of a forthcoming tut and quickly elaborates "…but we'll get a taxi, it's no problem."

He books them into a hotel in Bayswater, not wanting her too close to either his or Sybil's homes, inviting the unwelcome prospect of unexpected visits, and hopes that Amy will enjoy its vibrant international atmosphere. An offer to book theatre tickets is met with sharp reprimand – Margaret is coming to mourn her lost daughter, not for a social whirl around the capital – but the concept of them all sitting in Sybil's flat for hours at a time is intolerable and he makes a reservation for afternoon tea in a homely café near their hotel for the Saturday afternoon. There's no prospect of it being overwhelming for her – it's nothing like the upmarket version offered in many of the city's top hotels – and there's no liquor licence so an opportunity to once again condemn the Bransons' drinking habits will not be forthcoming.

He's dreading introducing her to Sybil, who has been vocal in her condemnation of Margaret and pithy at any suggestion of the prospect of their eventual encounter. Since their relationship was made public, he has been regularly interrogated by his mother, who frustrated at only ever receiving titbits of information about the Crawley family from Emma, is eager for further details. He's been very wary of offering anything substantial, for fear that it will be subsequently used as a weapon in verbal conflict, although appreciates that in doing so, he has given Sybil the upper hand.

He meets them at Heathrow as requested and during the slow journey into central London, observes Amy's restrained excitement at her visit. She's clearly mindful of the trip's purpose, but it's her first visit outside of Ireland and at nearly sixteen, the experience is exhilarating. Margaret is unusually subdued - she's out of her comfort zone - but the occasional sniff of disapproval indicates that she's storing up mental images of London's inadequacy in comparison to her native Dublin.

Sybil meets them at the hotel in the early afternoon and any previously expressed anxiety about the encounter appears well hidden. They exchange courteous handshakes and Tom watches his mother make no effort to disguise her curious observation of Sybil's appearance. Any awkwardness is diffused by Sybil's enthusiastic greeting to Amy, expressing admiration for her boots and being rewarded with equally flattering comments about her jewellery.

"Yes, Tom bought me this bangle for my birthday - it's lovely, isn't it?" he's satisfied to hear and tips his head with mock modesty at his sister's look of approval.

"Since when have you been any good at choosing jewellery?" his mother asks brusquely, appearing to notice her exclusion from the conversation.

"Since now" Sybil replies evenly with a smile and takes hold of Tom's hand.

The café is only a few hundred metres away, but Margaret reminds him of her walking difficulties so they hail a taxi, which crawls along Bayswater Road in deference to the swathes of Saturday shoppers.

"So, we thought you could come over to the flat tomorrow morning if that suits you?" Sybil asks with a brightness of tone and his heart swells at the affable efforts she's making. "Emma's room is just as she left it. The police had to take a few items, but most things are there and I've just dusted from time to time."

"Before you pack it all away?" his mother asks bitterly and he feels instantly indignant, despite appreciating the distress she must be feeling.

"Come on Mam, we talked about this. Whatever happens now, Emma won't be going back to her job in London. Her year is almost up and Gwen has to come back. You can take anything you want for the time being and everything else will be packed up and put into storage. We can get things out at any time." The question of Emma never returning is left unspoken and the prospect of dealing with her belongings indefinitely may have to be addressed at another time.

"Tom's taken great care to look through her things so if you have an idea about what you'd like to take home, it'll be easier." Sybil says solemnly.

Margaret nods and looks vacantly out of the taxi window. "Of course, Tom saw very little of Emma before she went missing." she says, the usual hint of condemnation lacing her words.

Before he can think of a typically defensive reply, Sybil interjects.

"No, but neither did you."

Suddenly it feels as if all the air is being sucked out of the vehicle as he watches his mother's expression turn firstly to indignation and then swiftly into fury while his muscles clench with foreboding. Yet Sybil is smiling without apparent malice or conviction and he is uncertain whether or not her words were intended to be judgmental.

"I was in Dublin and she was in London!" his mother retorts sharply and Sybil retains her genial disposition, smiling and nodding in agreement.

"Of course" she adds lightly, leaving Margaret with no means of retaliation.

They alight at the café and as if this gathering was not already stressful enough, Tom feels the weight of anxiety for what is about to shortly take place.

"I booked a table in the name of Branson" he explains to the smiling young waitress, who checks her Reservation Book and nods in confirmation.

"Yes, a table for five? Come this way please."

As they weave cautiously in and around other diners' chairs, Margaret taps him firmly on the arm.

"Why did she say five? There are only four of us."

Ignoring her, he pulls out a chair at their indicated table and nods for his mother to be seated.

"I asked you why you booked a table for five?" she repeats with a hint of menace before an unpleasant thought crosses her mind and her mouth twists with distaste.

"It's not one of _her_ family coming, is it?" she whispers, the prospect of dining with a British Earl or Countess clearly filling her with horror.

"No, Mam." Tom replies quietly and takes a seat next to her, smiling grimly at Sybil who sits on his mother's other side.

"Then will you please answer my question, Thomas! Why have you booked a table for five? Who else is coming?"

He takes a deep breath, shaking a napkin on to his lap before turning to face her.

"Kieran" he replies and watches the colour drain entirely from his mother's face. Her hands flap helplessly in front of her chest as if clutching for support while her mouth opens and closes in a silent appeal.

"Really?" Amy asks, her eyes shining with excitement and Tom smiles at her with genuine affection.

"He's on the tube as we speak. I got a text from him at the hotel. He'll be here in a few minutes I should think."

Margaret remains pale, grasping the table with one hand and her handbag with the other. He catches a glimpse of the internal turmoil she's experiencing – the anticipation of seeing her first born again after so many years, combined with antagonism at his long absence from her life.

All of a sudden Tom feels courage never previously possessed and leans in towards his mother.

"He's coming for Amy's sake." he says firmly and watches her eyes widen with surprise. "We both want to ensure that we don't make the same mistakes with her that we did with Emma. But this is your chance, Mam." He narrows his eyes. "Don't blow it."

Sitting back in his chair, he is surprised at how liberated he feels, finally released by the burden of her disapproval. Confident at last with a woman who loves him, he no longer fears being cast out by his mother, secure in the knowledge that he will never now be truly alone.

There's a nervous edge to any conversation for the following ten minutes. Sybil does her best to engage Amy with enquiries about her drama ambitions, but he's aware of their eyes frequently darting behind him towards the door at any sound. Eventually Sybil rises to her feet with a broad smile and he joins her in turning to greet his brother. Kieran's jovial in manner, but Tom can see the tension etched in his expression as he shakes hands and kisses Sybil warmly on the cheek. Tom points to the vacant chair opposite and as Kieran makes his way around the table, he finally meets his mother's eye.

"Mam" he says with a stern nod and Tom hears a high pitch squeak emit from the back of his mother's throat.

"Hello Kieran" she begins tentatively, her voice filled with a lack of self-confidence that he has never previously heard. "You look very well."

"You too" he replies, before turning to Amy with a smile.

"Well Amy, I wouldn't have recognised you. You're so grown up!" With a satisfied beam, she scratches at the tablecloth and squirms in her seat with pleasure.

"I don't expect you even remember me, do you?" Kieran continues amiably and their sister nods in contradiction.

"Of course I do! You brought me a doll the last time, I've still got it actually." There's a brief pause for confirmation, but Kieran is sitting motionless, his gaze meeting Amy's.

"I'd forgotten about that" he says quietly.

"I'd just had a birthday, I think I'd just turned seven. And you said that you wouldn't be coming back again for a long time, so the doll was to remind me of you and that when I was grown up, I could come to Liverpool and visit you."

Kieran's face is flushed by her recollection and he looks shamefully away. "Well of course that still applies. Christ, I'm so sorry that I've been such a terrible brother."

"It's OK" Amy says, appearing awkward at his admission, but wanting to compensate for his obvious embarrassment. "You're here now, anyway." and she smiles firstly at Kieran and then in Tom's direction, making him feel that they are both unworthy of her positive disposition and forgiveness.

The waitress's arrival is a welcome respite from their respective contemplation. Orders complete, there's a nervous silence around the table that even Sybil appears unable to fill. Finally, Kieran clears his throat.

"Would you like to see some photos of your grandchildren, Mam?"

Margaret nods quickly, her head moving up and down rapidly for longer than is necessary. "Yes please" she whispers and reaches out with trembling hands to take two photographs from him.

"Sophia's five and a half, she's in Year One now. Very into her dancing - a real girly girl, despite our best efforts to avoid pink. And Jack's almost three. He doesn't care at the moment – cars or princesses, he'll play either."

Margaret raises a hand to her neck as she gazes at the pictures, her face expressionless but her pallor remaining pale.

"He looks like you at the same age" she says quietly

"Really? He always reminds me of Tom actually, I think they've got the same eyes."

"Yes" Margaret concedes "He's most definitely Branson through and through." Tom steels himself for a sharp concluding comment, but none is forthcoming and after another minute or so, his mother leans across to return the photographs.

"They're lovely looking children"

"You can keep those pictures if you want?" Kieran says with a nonchalant shrug, indicating that he anticipates a rebuff, but Margaret hurriedly retracts her arm and the two exchange their first smile.

The afternoon proceeds with caution on all sides. Tom engages Amy in conversation about her drama club and enquires about her tentative plans for the future.

"I'd definitely like to try for drama school, if I can get in" she replies, beaming once again at being the centre of her siblings' attention.

"Will you stay in Dublin or go further afield, do you think?"

"I'm not sure" she says, appearing suddenly uncomfortable, her eyes flicking back and forth between Tom and her mother.

"It's a good opportunity to explore another city and be independent for the first time – you could try somewhere else in Ireland, or even come over to England?"

Margaret speaks more cautiously than usual, but her point is firmly made.

"Well you didn't practice what you preach, Tom. _You_ stayed in Dublin for university."

He turns to face her, not in contradiction, but with the intention of providing a firm reminder of the circumstances behind his decision. "That's only because Da was so ill at that point. I didn't want to leave him."

A nervous silence permeates the table at the mention of Patrick Branson, until Amy clears her throat.

"Anyway, Mam would prefer me to stay, wouldn't you? And you know…" she raises her eyes to meet Tom's in a silent beseech. "…I wouldn't want to leave Dad." Tom smiles at her and reflects at the potentially taut relationship between his mother and step-father. He's never had any reason to doubt Margaret's accounts of David's devotion, but has often wondered whether it remains a rather one-sided arrangement. He has little interest in her husband's welfare, but the man remains the father of his sister and her loyalty towards him is touching, making him suspect that once she has left the family home, there may be little else to tempt him to stay.

"The Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts has a good reputation" Kieran interjects and tips his head in Amy's direction. "Might be worth considering as a compromise? You could easily go home on the ferry for the weekend. I could try and get hold of a prospectus for you if you like?"

Tom doesn't believe that Kieran is trying to deliberately provoke their mother, only making efforts to find a solution which might provide an acceptable compromise for all parties. Margaret's lips are pursed, but she offers no verbal discord, while Amy enthuses in gratitude.

"Amy's also doing well with her creative writing, she's had some stories published in the school magazine, haven't you?" Margaret nods proudly and Amy winces with embarrassment.

"It's only a school magazine, Mam. Loads of people have stuff in it."

"Still, I think it's very good. You should ask Tom to take a look at what you've written."

"I'd be happy to" he interjects, before his mother manipulates the conversation with egotistic satisfaction.

"Of course, my father was a wonderful writer." She glances firstly at Tom and then hesitantly towards Kieran. "Your Grandpa Frank. I mean he never had anything published but he wrote beautiful stories for us girls when we were children."

"It seems…" Sybil suddenly enters the conversation with a genial smile. "…that most people in your family seem to have a way with words!"

Her expression appears innocent of any reproach, yet Tom understands the veiled rebuke she's providing and has to chew his cake carefully in order to conceal his smile of amusement. He daren't meet Kieran's eye and only smiles affably at his mother as she battles instinctive criticism with a desperate desire for approval.

Kieran's catching an evening train back to Liverpool and Sybil suggests to Amy that she might like to take a look around the nearby Whiteleys Shopping Centre before meandering back to the hotel. Margaret declines on account of her hip but to everyone's surprise has no objection to her daughter accompanying Sybil and Kieran, who's promised Sophia and Jack a present from the capital.

"I'll come back to the hotel with you, Mam" Tom suggests and is astonished at her conciliatory response.

"No, you go and spend some time with your sister, she'd like that. Just get me into a cab and I'll see you back there later. I'm tired after the journey over, I could do with a lie down for a bit."

Shopping and sightseeing complete, the family reconvenes at the hotel and over coffees and hot chocolates – Tom and Kieran have a mutual understanding that no alcohol should be consumed in their mother's presence – they discuss Emma, united in their anxiety for the future, but sharing happier memories from the past. With trepidation, Tom pulls out one of the photographs that Emma had hidden in her bedroom and hands it to Kieran.

"Remember our day at Sandycove Beach?" he asks and watches his brother's expression alter with a mixture of regret and pleasure at the happy scene.

Amy's curious, then passes the picture to her mother, who stares at it intently and in a touching gesture, lifts a finger to stroke the image of seven year old Emma's face.

"My Emma" she whispers and Tom is surprised to feel tears spring to his eyes at evidence of her genuine affection.

With a hastily disguised cough, he nods his head towards the photograph.

"I was wondering if you can remember how that day came about, Mam? Only it was pretty rare for you to let Da take Emma out anywhere."

"I was ill" she replies swiftly, still glancing down towards the photograph. "Terrible flu, I couldn't get out of bed. My sister Anne was at a friend's wedding and my other sister was out of town. I'd only just met David and didn't want to impose. So I phoned your father and asked him to look after Emma for the day."

"I see." Tom doesn't anticipate any further explanation, but Margaret's recollection is not yet complete.

"She was so full of it all when she got home that evening. What a wonderful time she'd had with her Da and her brothers. Desperate to see you all again." She expels a brief but audible sigh of regret. "I should have let her go more often, I know you two would have looked after her." She closes her eyes and regardless of the indisputable hurt caused by their enforced separation, Tom understands the pain of her remorse in light of Emma's subsequent plight. Reaching forward to lightly squeeze her hand, he is taken by surprise when Margaret responds in kind.

The following morning, Tom travels with his mother and sister to Sybil's flat. Kieran and Margaret parted the previous evening with a courteous exchange. There were no promises or out of character declarations, but his brother lightly touched on the possibility of bringing his family over to Dublin at an indeterminable point in the future and their mother seemed satisfied by this prospect.

She greets Sybil with a little more warmth on this occasion, expressing gratitude for keeping Emma's belongings safe and on display. He swears he witnesses her running a finger along a bookcase at one point – Margaret prides herself on her housekeeping abilities – but he's distracted by a question from Amy and by the time he turns his head again, she's moved elsewhere across the room.

In an unspoken agreement, they leave her alone in Emma's bedroom for a short while and as he pulls the door behind him, is struck by how his mother has aged within such a brief period of time – short and hunched while sitting on her daughter's bed, her face etched with grief. It seems unfeasible all of a sudden that this frail old lady could create such anger and bitterness amongst her offspring and Tom can't help but feel stirrings of compassion towards her unexpected image of vulnerability.

She emerges twenty or so minutes later, holding one of Emma's sparkly hair clips and a multi-coloured wooden heart which was hanging from her mirror.

"I'll take these for the moment then" she says weakly, sitting down on the sofa and accepting Sybil's offer of a cup of tea. The caffeine appears to revive her and the conversation proceeds stiltedly, Margaret switching between familiar sharp rebuke and unexpected platitudes for the efforts Tom has made with the investigation. Sybil's working a late shift today, so he is accompanying Margaret and Amy back to the hotel, then on to Heathrow later in the afternoon. As they prepare to leave, Sybil reaches forward to warmly hug Amy, then dutifully kisses Margaret on the cheek before stepping back with a smile.

"It was lovely to meet you both" she says warmly and he rests an arm over her shoulder in affection, appreciative of the efforts she's made, regardless of her instinctive unease at the encounter. Margaret nods as she reaches for the final button on her coat.

"Well I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for with him!" It isn't said with any apparent malice, yet nor can he detect warmth or an affectionate attempt at humour in her tone.

Sybil nods firmly and meets Margaret's curious gaze. "Oh don't worry about that, I know exactly what to expect. Tom's told me all his secrets." Her words are lightly voiced, but the implication is clear and Margaret leaves in full knowledge that Sybil holds the clear advantage.

ooOoo

As February draws to a close, Tom begins to sort through Emma's belongings and arranges for them to be put into storage. It isn't a long process, she travelled lightly from Ireland and most of her London purchases have been clothes. Sybil assists, recognising the higher quality items of clothing and wrapping them carefully in tissue paper before they are laid in plastic storage boxes. He cleans Emma's shoes and boots, stuffing them with old newspapers in an effort to protect them, wondering as he does so the circumstances under which they will be next retrieved. The expensive items of jewellery bought by Gerald Duffy are deposited in a bank's safe and he bundles up various administrative documents to store in his own flat.

Gwen returns to London at the beginning of March, torn between her delight at being reunited with her closest friend and regret at leaving her boyfriend back in Dublin. Tom warms to her immediately, her sharp mind and humour provide stimulating conversation and her affection for Sybil and their shared history is touching to observe. Emma's absence weighs heavily on their minds for the first few days – an exchange only half complete - and it's peculiar for him to witness someone clearly so at home in the space he has come to think of as belonging entirely to Sybil.

In collaboration with Dawn Pulliver, he arranges publicity for the six month anniversary of Emma's disappearance and as promised, Kieran takes the day off work to travel to London. On 11th March, the two brothers, Sybil, Gwen and many of her and Emma's work colleagues release a bundle of green balloons in Gray's Inn Gardens, close to her last sighting, each of them printed with website details and the information line for the Metropolitan Police. Displaying unexpected unity, a similar event takes place in Dublin with many of Emma's colleagues and school friends accompany Margaret, David and Amy to St Stephen's Green where Emma had often eaten lunch on sunny days. The events are well publicised in both countries on both TV and in newsprint and while any such exposure creates a swell of well-meaning enquiries, the investigation remains at stalemate. Dawn continues to believe that Emma's Hong Kong connection holds the key to her disappearance but no tangible leads have been found and she is faced with having to scale back her team and minimise any pro-active activity.

Tom, Sybil and Gwen have a brainstorming session one evening, attempting to come up with publicity events which might help keep the case in the public's eye over the coming months. He calls in a few favours with fellow journalists and begins to plan a tentative timetable, wondering if he should return to Hong Kong later in the year in an attempt to raise Emma's profile once again. The thought of remaining dormant is untenable and while he is occupied in the planning of at least one article or promotion, he feels less worthy of criticism and can push aside the familiar sensation that he has let his sister down.

Towards the end of March, he is sitting in Southwark Crown Court, witnessing the summing up of the trial of an Irishman when his phone vibrates and he spots Dawn's name appear on the screen. His hopes no longer rise at the sight, he's had enough knock-backs and disappointment to expect anything but another false lead or general request for information. At a suitable point in the proceedings he steps outside to return her call and a feeling of dread overwhelms him as she enquires whether she can pay him a visit.

"I'm not at home…" he explains. "Is it another body?"

"No, but I need to speak to you and I don't want to do it over the phone."

"That doesn't sound like good news"

"It isn't" she replies flatly.

Half an hour later he's at Kennington Police Station, sitting opposite both Dawn and DS Khan, his stomach churning with the potential magnitude of what they are about to reveal. The expressions of gravity on each of their faces make it clear that this is no routine briefing and he shifts uncomfortably, nodding towards Dawn's paperwork in an effort to speed up the process.

"Right Tom, well the Drugs Squad has been following up a lead, which gave an indication that a delivery may have been made to a disused warehouse in Hertfordshire."

"OK and you think Emma might have been involved with this?" The idea seems ludicrous, but enquiries into his sister's life have thrown up so many anomalies from the girl he knows that any far-fetched theory now seems worthy of consideration.

"No, not as far as we're aware." Dawn swallows deeply and glances down at her desk before her eyes meet Tom's anxious gaze. "But anyway, the tip-off was false or misinterpreted, I'm not sure, but the warehouse was empty."

"Right"

"However, our colleagues spotted a very large expanse of dried blood in there and as a matter of course, a sample was taken for analysis. It was checked against our DNA database and…" she gives a swift sigh "…Tom, I'm very sorry but it matched Emma's."

Fleetingly he considers this to be good news - they've traced another step of her journey, however the solemn faces opposite swiftly contradict his train of thought and a cold chill begins to swathe his body.

"So she was there at some point?" He doesn't wish to appear obtuse, but his mind doesn't seem able to process the information in any rational form and he wants to be certain that he understands all of its implications.

"There seems no other alternative, yes."

"And so you think she was hurt? How much blood was there?"

"A lot Tom, I'm afraid. Enough to make us believe that she was probably killed there."

Blood rushes suddenly to his head and for a short while it's as if his mind takes leave of his body, hovering above and observing the three of them conversing down below.

"But you don't know that for sure." he says pleadingly, desperate to grasp any sliver of hope that may exist.

"Well there's no body at this stage no, but the probability is extremely high." Dawn reaches across her desk in a futile attempt to reach and console. "We want you to know that we will continue to do all that we can to find her, Tom. But I'm afraid that as a result of this discovery, we've decided that this is now a murder enquiry."


	21. Chapter 21

Altering the course of the police investigation provides only interminable agony with no hint of resolution. Sybil discovers Tom in her living room on her return from work later that afternoon – the first time he has ever taken advantage of the key she provided all those months ago – ashen faced and shattered by the news.

"They think it's connected with one of her affairs…" he explains, his voice trembling with emotion as she attempts to comprehend. "…either a wife who has found out, or the guy himself trying to silence her."

"But they don't know that for certain?" she asks, replicating the disbelief he displayed earlier at the police station and grasping at any potential flaw to this theory in the faint hope of a more positive outcome. She's gripping the back of the sofa which separates them, having managed no more than a few steps inside the room and fears that if she releases her hold, unsteady legs may instantly fail to provide support.

"No. They don't know anything really. It's all just speculation…a theory. There's no evidence about anything. She had affairs, but in all honesty, it could be completely unconnected to those for all we know. I think they're as mystified now as they were six months ago, they just have to grasp on to something."

"But there's no body" Sybil repeats slowly, her voice disguised by an optimism she does not truthfully embrace and which is contradicted by the weary shake of Tom's head.

"They're pretty certain that she couldn't have survived. But while we don't have tangible proof of a body…" His sentence is left incomplete, but its implication is clear. Without the discovery of Emma herself, they can never fully grieve, nor come to terms with what has taken place. There will be no sense of closure while a sliver of hope exists.

Now that the investigation has switched to a murder enquiry, Dawn is reluctantly removed from the case – her role as a Missing Persons Co-ordinator not enabling her to contribute to this change in emphasis. She visits Tom and Sybil, assuring them that she is unable to emotionally detach herself entirely and inviting them to contact her at any time. DS Ashraf Khan is now leading the enquiry, although the more serious nature of the crime means that overall accountability is met by DCI Philip Atkinson, an experienced and empathetic investigator with a daughter of Emma's age, who promises Tom an increase in both manpower and budget.

The news becomes public and the internet once again offers crackpot theories and judgement from far and wide. A police informer claims that Emma was murdered by a hitman with orders from abroad, but there's no evidence to support it and additional information is not forthcoming.

Tom's mood swings between an aloof resolve that life should continue as usual in the absence of any further evidence - holding Sybil at arm's length while he does so, to a voracious desire for comfort and support. She finds the frequent adjustment exhausting, unable to predict the mood awaiting her while attempting simultaneously to deal with her own distress and sense of loss. At the back of her mind is a recurrent belief that her anguish is insignificant in comparison and she's very grateful for Gwen's presence, allowing her an opportunity to voice the personal sorrow she's carefully withholding from Tom.

It's during one of these heartfelt discussions that Gwen cautiously shares her own news.

"I've applied for a job this week" she confesses, screwing up her face in anticipation of Sybil's reaction.

"In Dublin, I presume?" Sybil's heart sinks at the prospect of losing her friend again so soon after their reunion and in the midst of her weariness can only offer a half-hearted grimace.

"Yes. Typical isn't it? There was nothing out there in the months before I came back, but now there's a suitable analyst's vacancy. I contacted this company before Christmas and they kept my CV and got in touch earlier in the week. They've offered me an interview a week on Friday, so I'm going to fly over and stay afterwards for the weekend. Joe was intending to come over here, but we'll just push that back a couple of weeks. You'll meet him eventually, I promise!"

Sybil attempts a smile and rests her head on the side of her armchair. "Well good luck" she says weakly.

"Ah, but do you really mean that?"

"Of course! I mean, I don't want you to leave, but that's just me being selfish. You said it wasn't going to be long-term so I'm happy for you. I understand that you want to be with Joe."

"Well I don't want to tempt fate, but what will you do about the flat if I get it?"

Sybil exhales loudly. "God, I haven't really thought about it in any great detail - I don't know. Advertise for someone else perhaps?" she wrinkles her nose and lifts her thumb towards her teeth in contemplation. "Can't say I fancy living with another stranger to be honest. And I think the room might be difficult to fill given what's happened. Maybe I'll move to a one-bed and live on my own, I got used to it after a while and I can afford it nowadays."

"You wouldn't think about moving in with Tom?"

Sybil's mouth drops open. "Blimey, it hadn't crossed my mind. But it's probably a bit soon for that, I think."

"Is it?" Gwen tips her head and offers a teasing smile. "I know it's difficult at the moment, but you seem very committed to one another. And he already seems pretty at home here from what I can see."

"Oh you mean for him to move in here? I thought you meant that I should move in with him. Well I don't know if he would want to anyway, he's lived on his own for quite a few years now."

"But would you want him to, that's the question?"

Sybil feels herself flush while she considers the prospect. She loves having Gwen back in her daily life, but while she has never previously minded her own company, the times in which she is now alone, she often longs to be with Tom and misses the privacy they were afforded before her friend returned. Although Tom is relaxed in Gwen's company, he's always mindful of her residency and Sybil has spent as many nights in Kentish Town as in her own bed within the last two or three weeks.

"Um…I don't know really. Possibly. It's a nice thought, I'll admit but I'm not entirely sure what's going through his mind at the moment. It's probably not a good time to even consider it." She scratches her head and pulls a face. "Anyway, what if he said no?"

"Well you won't know what he thinks if you don't ask, will you?" Gwen shakes her head in mock admonishment. "Anyway, even if I get this job - and it's a big if – it wouldn't happen for a while. Plenty of time for things to settle down a little, let his mind get used to what's been discovered and move forward a bit." She nods sagely at Sybil. "He makes you very happy, I can see that and I reckon he could use some joy in his life at the moment. I think you should consider it."

ooOoo

In the midst of their unending weariness and grief, Sybil proposes that they go away for a week. "Nowhere exotic. Just out of London. Let's rent a cottage somewhere, take armfuls of books and just remove ourselves from the situation for a while. We'll have our phones switched on, we can come back if there's any progress." Tom's hesitant, it's one of his more resolute periods and he's writing industriously – an in-depth feature on the Anglo-Irish economic welfare alliance in the lead up to the next EU summit – but he's already told her that it won't be published until next month so can't use its urgent completion as an excuse.

She persists with gentle encouragement. "Neither of us has had any time off since Christmas, apart from Hong Kong which wasn't a holiday. It will do us good, I think. I'd like to have you to myself for a bit, Tom." He's eventually persuaded and provides a contrite smile of consent. Before he can change his mind, she reserves a pretty one-bedroomed cottage in a small village on the Welsh border. They hire a car, sharing the driving and she observes him gradually relax as he takes the wheel, his self-imposed diligence abating as the miles pass.

The weather's mixed, traditional April showers interspersed with an early promise of sunshine and warmth. Sybil always feels optimistic at this time of year, anticipating a long, dry summer ahead with no evidence of potential disappointment yet forthcoming. It's different this year of course - their relaxation and contentment are overshadowed by melancholy - but they each grasp the opportunity to suspend disbelief for a short period and enjoy the prospect of their seclusion.

They spend a day in Hay-on-Wye – "The Town of Books"- commencing at the castle, a fusion of Norman, Jacobean and Victorian design, its grounds bordered by second hand bookstalls. It's a reader's paradise and they fulfil their mutual enjoyment by browsing the specialist bookshops which dominate the network of surrounding lanes and arcades. Laden by heavy bags and their individual interests satisfied, they finally retreat to a pub on the High Street for a late lunch. Despite the mild temperatures outside, there's a cosy fire lit in the hearth and they begin to flick through their purchases, drinks in hand while they wait for their meals. Sybil lifts up a heavy hardback about the Fiat factory in Turin and begins to read aloud, her voice turning nasal in tone as she mocks his fascination with engine mechanics. Sporting an indignant smile, he swipes it back. "It's very interesting actually. Get back to your 'Women's Health in Victorian England' and your Pony Club Annual.

"Edwardian England actually" she says with a grin, waving her treasured tome aloft. "And I can't believe I found a copy of this old annual, I had it for Christmas when I was about ten."

"Yes you said…" he pauses with arched eyebrows "…several times in the shop."

"Am I boring you?" she laughs.

"Never" he replies and leans over the table for a kiss.

It's easy to forget that Emma's story is considered public property and Sybil instinctively tenses on overhearing her name whispered at an adjoining table. Her challenging stare is met with defiance from the woman in question – a lady of mature age, whose plump lips purse in disapproval while she glances at her companion and concludes with condemnation. "Well _she_ didn't have any morals, so why would the brother be any different?" she mutters audibly. "Clearly, they're more interested in enjoying themselves nowadays."

"Disgraceful" her companion adds in a whisper so staged that Sybil knows it was intended for their ears and although she's predominately angry, tears of injustice spring to her eyes.

The arrival of their lunch interrupts any sharp retort they may be plotting, but neither retains much of an appetite and even after their neighbours leave sporting self-satisfied sneers, have little desire to prolong their stay.

"Remember what you told me…" Tom says firmly, holding her hand as they walk back to the car. "…we're allowed to be happy."

"I know and I _do_ believe that, I promise, but it's just so hurtful to think that people might believe that we no longer care about her! I mean, do they honestly feel that we ought to devote every waking moment to helping the police?"

"Yes" Tom replies with a grimace. "But it's easy to judge when you're not in that position, I suppose. We've all got confident ideas about what we would do in a certain situation, but the reality is often different."

"It's usually me telling you these types of things" Sybil gives a sigh and squeezes his hand "Sorry, you shouldn't be having to bolster my feelings of self-worth with all you're going through at the moment."

"But isn't that what people do when they're together? One pulls the other up when they're down and then vice versa?" He tips his head towards Sybil's curious gaze. "See? I'm learning."

The decision is made to avoid urban areas for the remainder of their break and they purchase food and bottles of wine from the village shop, where the proprietor appears either unaware or simply uninterested in their origins. On sunny days, they explore the countryside with a picnic, following the River Wye along its meandering path and climbing The Sugarloaf Mountain, a feat which leaves them both breathless and rueing their poor levels of fitness. When it rains they remain content in the cottage – reading, watching films on Tom's laptop or making love. Tom refrains from smoking and uses his electronic cigarette increasingly rarely, although confesses to having succumbed to buying a packet after Emma's blood was discovered. They drink wine in the evenings, but never excessively and although they talk about Emma only occasionally, she is never far from their minds.

Late on their final night as they lie silently in the luxurious King Sized bed with its Egyptian cotton sheets and goose feathered quilt, listening to the steady drum of rain on the tiled roof, Tom turns on his side and draws her close.

"I think I can bear anything when I'm with you" he says in such a matter of fact manner, that she no longer fears a potential rejection and asks whether he would consider moving in once Gwen has returned to Ireland.

"What, in Emma's room, or Gwen's room rather?" he asks with surprise and she giggles in response.

"No, silly. With me, in my room. We could turn the other bedroom into a study if you like, so you wouldn't have to work in the living room."

"Wow, my own study, I'd be going up in the world!" He pauses to bestow a gentle kiss. "Well you know…I'd let you come in occasionally!"

"You're too kind." She pokes him playfully in the ribs "So what do you think?"

"I think we should hope that Gwen gets that job."

ooOoo

Within days of their return, Gwen's application proves successful and she commences with plans for a return to Dublin at the end of May.

"I feel as if I should meet your parents if I'm moving in with you" Tom declares one evening, having handed in his notice at his flat.

"Funnily enough, my Dad said something similar on the phone the other night." Sybil replies with a tone of amusement.

"Well at least we start with one thing in common then! After all, you've met all my family now and I've only managed one sister in return."

"Only one thing in common?" Sybil asks with fake indignation, one hand resting on a hip and her eyes narrowing.

"Two then! We both love you, so I think that sets us up pretty well, don't you?"

"Right answer!" She laughs out loud. "Well they've been dying to meet you for ages, but it's difficult with me working shifts and my parents having their National Trust commitments lined up weeks in advance. Anyway, they've been anxious not to force the issue because of everything that's been going on with Emma - they don't want to put any additional pressure on you."

"Well I would like to meet them, and Mary too. I'm finally appreciating that we're not ultimately defined by our families and background, but I would like to see where you grew up and how a normal family operates."

"Who said anything about normal?" she jokes. "But yes we should arrange something before the wedding, otherwise it'll all be a bit overwhelming."

"Wedding?!" Tom's eyes widen, his jaw goes slack and momentarily, Sybil can't comprehend his confusion.

"Not ours!" she gasps "Mary and Matthew's!" Heat rises throughout her body at his unexpected misunderstanding and she attempts to meet it with humour, giggling while she shakes her head, simultaneously conscious of a faint sense of disappointment. "You're going to be invited, so it would be best to get a few introductions out of the way beforehand, don't you think?"

He clears his throat and looks away. "For sure. Let's try and sort something out soon."

She hurriedly busies herself by flicking through his TV guide, humming softly in order to revoke the awkward silence which now hovers between them, until he turns around to face her once again.

"I wasn't necessarily objecting to the concept by the way, but you know…" he shrugs his shoulders and offers a goofy grin in an obvious attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "…I just thought it was a bit cheeky of you not to actually ask me first!"

She meets his smile with one equally as self-conscious and while outwardly they display mutual amusement at his joke, the subject matter hangs in the air, searching fruitlessly for its conclusion.

ooOoo

Elliott Rouse is following his usual route through Broxbourne Woods ahead of his dog Molly, a Jack Russell cross, when he becomes aware of her trotting behind him carrying yet another bone.

"What have you got there then, Mol?" he asks cheerfully as they continue along the path back to the carpark, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of dinner. Their evening stroll is habitual, although sometimes a busy day allows only a shorter ramble around the southern suburb of Hertford in which they live. However, as a self-employed electrician, his workday varies in length and if he has the time, he'll pack Molly in the car and head out for a longer stretch through the woods, aware as he reaches his mid-fifties of the benefits the additional exercise affords.

"Not in the house, OK? You leave it in the garden, good girl" he tells his pet as she jumps into the footwell of the passenger seat, her prize clamped firmly between her teeth.

He's laying the table for dinner half an hour later, lamb chops grilling nicely and a selection of vegetables in the electric steamer, when his wife Diane, a nurse, glances anxiously out of the window and the rapidly threatening dark clouds which now dominate the sky.

"I'd better get that washing in" she mutters, picking up the basket and hurrying outside. He whistles cheerfully, pleased to have made the most of the day's earlier sunshine and increases the volume on the Bruce Springsteen track playing in the background.

He doesn't hear Diane calling him at first, stepping back with a startled jump as her anxious face appears unexpectedly at the back door only a couple of minutes later.

"Where did that bone come from?" she asks and he's taken aback by her unusually sombre expression.

"Broxbourne Woods, why? I won't let her bring it in the house, but she's alright with it in the garden isn't she? She'll probably bury it later."

Diane's grasping the door frame, the washing basket nowhere in sight and Elliott frowns at her pale pallor. "Are you alright?" he asks with concern.

"I think we need to phone the police."

"Why?" He looks at her in confusion, his stomach muscles beginning to clench with foreboding, while Diane lifts a trembling hand to her cheek.

"I'm pretty sure it's human."

* * *

_**I know, I know….another cliffhanger. Sorry! Two chapters plus an epilogue to go, so we are nearing the end. Thank you so much as always for your kind words and reviews.**_


	22. Chapter 22

Tom understands, simply by the fact that DS Khan has arrived unannounced at his and Sybil's front door, what the inevitable outcome must be.

"Can I come in?" the detective asks gently and the woman standing behind him – part of the team he presumes, she's plain clothed and sympathetic looking – glances awkwardly down at the floor before taking a deep breath and blinking rapidly, as if preparing herself for the ordeal ahead.

Tom steps backwards wordlessly, inadvertently stepping on Sybil's bare toes and muttering a brief apology - it's unusually warm for early June and the flat is curiously airless. There's a shortage of windows which open adequately and what little breeze enters, appears unable to circulate effectively. He's been musing on the science behind this while they endure another agonising wait for news, trying to occupy himself with something useful while Sybil bakes, despite the heat - adjusting the location of desk fans to create a rhythmical thoroughfare of cooler air.

"Tea, coffee?" he asks, avoiding Ashram Khan's subdued gaze. It's usually Sybil who springs instantly to the role of dutiful host, but she's abnormally silent on this occasion, her blue eyes widened with foreboding. Besides, he briefly muses, it's _his_ home too now so there's no reason why he shouldn't take on such hospitable duties. By postponing the predictable news, his hope for a last minute reprieve can be suspended, no matter how slender the possibility.

"Shall we sit down, Tom?" Ashram Khan's eyes offer sympathy as he nods his head towards the sofa.

"It's so hot in here…can't get the air moving around…do you want to take your jacket off?...Sorry about this…" He's babbling without a pause, desperate to fill the pointed silence, aware of the turn this conversation will shortly take but unable to dedicate this thoughts and emotions accordingly.

Sybil pulls him down on to the sofa next to her, resting a hand on his knee – not gently, rather firmly in fact, as if attempting to curtail his chatter, to find his 'off switch' and let Ashram begin with his unenviable task.

Tom clears his throat. "Sorry" he concludes and looks down at the carpet, notes a minute red stain – is that red wine? Has he managed to spill something already or was it previously there? He hasn't noticed it before. Was it Sybil, or Gwen, maybe even Emma? He reaches down to give it a scratch, feels Sybil's leg press against him as a reminder to focus on the present, to be strong.

Ashram coughs lightly. "We are all very sorry to have to let you know that dental records prove that it was Emma's body found in Broxbourne Woods. Please accept our sincere sympathies, Tom."

"Thank you" he replies automatically and nods his head rapidly, aware of Sybil's hand clutching his, her eyes filling with tears. She's turning towards him in a desire for mutual comfort but he can't offer her his dedicated concentration right now. Christ it's so hot in here! How can she have borne this place for two summers already, his t-shirt is sticking to his spine and he can feel small bubbles of perspiration sliding slowly down his forehead. Ashram continues to speak, Tom's aware of the voice intonation, but can't decipher the words - a steady but in comprehensible stream of noise and aberration, like the parents in Charlie Brown cartoons he suddenly decides.

"How did she die?" he asks suddenly and by the briefly disguised look of surprise on Ashram's face, becomes aware that the question has already been addressed.

"A single gunshot wound to the back of the head. Impossible to self-inflict. It seems to have been a fairly clinical execution."

"Execution?" he repeats blankly. "Who would want to execute her? I thought you believe it was a crime of passion?"

"Well…" Ashram clears his throat in discomfort - no amount of training can ever adequately prepare you for this type of explanation. "…yes, we still believe that it's probably connected to one of the affairs she had, but it appears to have been a pre-meditated crime. So it's unlikely that it was actually carried out by the person in question. Somebody was probably hired to kill her – as far-fetched as that might sound…"

"It sounds like something out of a film! I thought only drug gangs arranged that kind of thing? I know – I was threatened with one back in Dublin."

"Yes we're aware of that, of course. Look Tom, we've still got no reason to believe that this is connected to your history. But in actual fact, this isn't so unusual…"

"What, people are regularly executed for having an affair, are they?" he snaps, knowing as he does so that any anger towards Ashram is unjustified, but needing to release some of the emotion that is bubbling and rising within.

"No, of course not, but people hiring a third party – a hit man, well we've come across it before when someone wants to detach themselves from their own course of action. They can't face the thought of actually murdering someone themselves, but…"

"…they pay somebody else to do their dirty work for them you mean?"

"Yes"

"Will you be able to get him? Or her for that matter?"

Ashram sighs and his eyes flick fleetingly towards the window before returning to Tom. "We will certainly try. But I have to warn you that the conversion rates on this type of crime is fairly low. They're professionals and hide their tracks well. But I promise that we'll do all that we can. We'll bring the two lovers we know about back in for questioning, we still don't know who the guy in Hong Kong is, or if there were any others. We won't give up, I can assure you."

Tom's aware of Sybil sniffing quietly, her head bowed, shoulders lightly shaking. He knows that he should try to offer some kind of comfort, but his body feels like a tightly curled spring, straining for release and at this moment, he can't even begin to reach out to her.

"There's no evidence…" Ashram commences once again in an awkward tone. "…of her having been restrained in any way. No marks on her ankles or wrists. I believe therefore that there's a very strong possibility that she didn't understand what was going to happen…not until the final moment anyway….perhaps not at all." Tom maintains his gaze without comment until Ashram breaks away, swallowing deeply. "Try to hold on to that thought if you can."

"What happens now?" he asks sharply, attempting to erase the horrific image of Emma's final seconds from his mind. "I need to be able to give my mother all the details."

"Of course. Well if you would like us to arrange a member of the local Garda to break it to her…if that would be easier for you?" Ashram hesitates awkwardly, not certain whether or not his offer is welcome.

"No, I need to tell her myself. Can we have a funeral, will you release her body?"

"After a few days, yes. We need to undertake a full post-mortem still. Um…" he scratches his leg uncomfortably "…as you can imagine, the body was in a poor state of decomposition and there were a couple of pieces which had been taken by animals, so…"

"Did she die right at the beginning?"

"Yes. The initial post-mortem estimated between 6-9 months, so it's likely that it took place within the first day or two after she disappeared."

"So it was all in vain…all our efforts."

"Nothing's in vain Tom, it'll all help to find whoever did it. You've done a great job in keeping her memory alive and in the public eye - it'll assist us going forward from this point."

There are other procedural elements to explain, but he's eager for them to leave. What else is important besides the fact that his sister is dead? She will never return, they will not now restore their relationship, he can never compensate for his years of disinterest and her isolation from members of her own family. He's lain awake over the last months in anticipation of this moment and expected to be overwhelmed by grief. Instead he simply feels angry – furious that her young life has been curtailed, her opportunities for success and happiness snatched away, his chance of atonement revoked. The effect of her death will resonate not only within her family, but across her friends, colleagues and acquaintances. Possibly hundreds of lives are touched by a senseless crime – sadness and regret entwined, all caused by a deliberate and considered act of violence.

Once they are alone, he rebuffs Sybil's efforts at mutual comfort – she will have to deal with her own emotions as he struggles to contain his own. Dying is a demanding business he later muses ruefully, after spending the remainder of his day occupied with its fallout. There are forms to fill in, a statement on behalf of the family to be released to the media, not to mention the devastating telephone calls to his mother and Kieran. It's David to whom he speaks in detail, Margaret understandably too grief-stricken to absorb more than the basic facts of the discovery and Tom is startled to hear his step-father's audible tears and lament. "Dear God, she didn't deserve this, she was a kind girl."

He intentionally stays up late, aware that little sleep will be forthcoming, not wanting to lie awake next to Sybil while she's still conscious herself and impelled to talk. He writes emails to Emma's friends and makes an impassioned plea to Amanda for a full and detailed published report of the discovery in the hope that it will stir somebody's conscience and bring the perpetrator to justice.

In the end he rests on the sofa, managing only a couple of hours' fitful sleep, up and typing furiously on his laptop once again when Sybil makes her weary entrance from the bedroom.

"Not now, OK?" he says brusquely as she hovers next to him with pleading eyes.

"I was only going to ask if you wanted a cup of tea" she mutters, her eyes clouding with emotion and he briefly remembers that she is grieving too.

By mid-afternoon he has run out of tasks to fulfil but in an effort to avoid any confrontation with Sybil, curtly informs her that he'll go to the local convenience shop to stock up on a few items.

"I can go!" she says, her eyes lighting up at the opportunity to do something constructive on his behalf.

"I want to get outside and clear my head…" he replies in a sharp rebuff. "…I'll see you later."

"I wish you'd talk to me" she says quietly and attempts to hold his gaze.

"Not now, alright? I've got too much to think about. I've got the rest of my life to talk about her."

He is aware of the injustice in his reply - that his terse words and obstructive attitude are only causing additional anguish - but at the moment he can't take on board anybody else's grief.

He wants to scream at the top of his voice about the inequality of their distress - 'She was _my_ sister!' - but what's the point? He didn't behave like a devoted brother for more than half of Emma's short life. He has no right to compete at sorrow, nor wallow in self-indulgence.

The owner of the local convenience store, a middle aged man of Indian origin, is on friendly nodding terms with both he and Sybil. Tom called in many times en-route to and from the flat during previous months and they had a brief conversation earlier in the week in which he explained he is now a permanent local resident. They've never discussed Emma but he's aware as soon as he enters through the door that his relationship to her is known. The man's usual cheery smile is absent this afternoon and after a brief nod of recognition, he hurriedly occupies himself with something under the counter. Tom picks up some milk, a large packet of crisps - he can't imagine that either of them will be able to face cooking today - then impulsively grabs one of Sybil's favourite chocolate bars in the hope that she will accept it as an apologetic gesture for his inhibited behaviour since the news broke. He's moving towards the counter when he passes the newspaper rack and Emma's smiling image is projected from the front page of nine separate publications. Her gaze is hypnotic as he stands rooted to the spot, time briefly suspended, watching her in a silent tribute.

"Shall I put these in a bag for you…my sincerest sympathies sir…" The shopkeeper is by his side, taking the items from his hands, guiding him gently by the elbow away from the newspapers. Tom blinks rapidly, attempting to erase his sister's picture from his mind.

"Please…no need to pay today Mr Branson…my respects to Lady Sybil…"

Tom takes the bag wordlessly but his eyes are drawn to the shelves behind the counter. Rows of alcohol and tobacco are neatly stacked and he feels the familiar tug of temptation in a desire to erase his unhappiness.

"A bottle of Jack Daniels and twenty Lambert and Butler." Tom says hoarsely "You'll let me pay for those please."

"Very good sir" The shopkeeper nods with a grimace, as if understanding Tom's inevitable course of action then places the items in the bag. "Terrible, terrible news. I'm so very sorry."

Sybil's silent while he unpacks his shopping, but he's aware of her staring at the whisky bottle while it sits unopened on the kitchen counter, muttering almost inaudible thanks for her chocolate.

"I've got more emails to send" he announces, picking up the bottle and making his way to what has now become his study. He'd had reservations about using what was once his sister's bedroom for work, had been concerned that it would contain too much sadness – a catalyst for his jumbled emotions. He was used to the flat in general and considered it Sybil's domain, but Emma's bedroom was different, having housed her personal items until Gwen's return. However, the landlord had agreed to remove all of the furniture and Tom has now replaced it with the purchase of a new desk, chair and bookcase, so it seems no longer comparable with his sister's earlier territory. Yet today he is consumed by her memory and after a cursory glance at his inbox, is unable to bear his silent contemplation within the four walls.

Sybil's pulling washing out of the machine in the kitchen in another attempt to keep busy, but she marches into the living room on hearing the TV switched on and the sound of motor racing reverberating throughout the flat.

"What are you doing?" she asks with discernible caution.

"I just want to watch something…anything. Don't hassle me Sybil, I just want to tune out for a while." He opens the whisky bottle. "Do you want a glass?"

"No thank you" she says quietly. "Look, Tom…"

"Please don't push me, Sybil! Now is _not_ the time!" He raises his voice in warning, avoiding her stare and turns the sound up, trying to concentrate on the commentary, not even certain where the race is taking place, nor its significance.

One glass leads into another in a familiar pattern and the bright glare of sunshine moves slowly away from the living room window as the long, bright evening takes hold. He's aware of Sybil talking quietly on the telephone in their bedroom and hears the happy chatter of pedestrians outside on the pavement, enjoying the summer evening's sun.

He goes outside to smoke, but is twice accosted by well-meaning neighbours who want to express their condolences and he can't face the possibility of a third.

"I'm going to lean out of the window" he says half-heartedly to Sybil but either she doesn't hear him or simply doesn't reply. She hands him a sandwich at one point, which he accepts gratefully but can't then find the appetite to eat so leaves it on a nearby table - lettuce leaning limply out of its centre, the bread slowly curling up at the ends. The whisky fills him up and for a short while its light-headed consequence makes the dark shadow of misery seem a little easier to bear. By mid-evening he's well and truly drunk, staggering to and from the toilet, aware of his voice slurring as misery overwhelms him, causing him to gasp with desperation and sink helplessly back on to the sofa. The phone rings and Sybil races to answers it. "He can't get to the phone at the moment, Kieran…" She disappears suddenly into the bedroom with the handset, almost certainly to tell his brother about today's self-destructive behaviour - yet he simply doesn't care.

Motor racing becomes cricket – he doesn't even like cricket, can't understand the rules and has frequently complained of the boredom it induces – yet he watches it anyway, steadily refilling his glass and shaking his head to rid his mind of Emma's smiling face. A car on the street outside backfires and he jumps violently, spilling whisky on the sofa in the process. He half-heartedly rubs at the stain with a hand, shuddering at the thought of the sound's similarity to a gun shot. The noise reprises within his mind and he finally lays his head in his hands, hearing himself whimper at an image of his sister's last terrifying moment.

He is unaware of what time it is when he finishes the bottle, only that the flat is sheathed in darkness with only the flickering light of a late night darts match to guide him to the bathroom when he realises that he is going to be sick. There's no sign of Sybil, who is presumably in bed and he has no idea whether or not she came to speak to him beforehand. He remembers nothing except a taste of whisky on his tongue, the slow release of nicotine across his body and the recurrent image of Emma's publicity photograph staring at him from all four corners of the room.

After emptying the contents of his stomach in the toilet and attempting to wipe his mouth clean, he staggers to the kitchen for a glass of water, avoiding any glance at a mirror in fear of witnessing the all too familiar sight of a reflection ravaged by alcohol and sadness. He can't help but notice that Sybil's shut the bedroom door, overcoming her instinctive anxiety about the dark in order to avoid having to further witness his passage of self-annihilation.

He wobbles precariously as he stands over the television screen, trying fruitlessly to switch off the monitor – his half-hearted attempt to save energy eventually thwarted by a fear that he may topple over entirely and be unable to subsequently rise. He's astute enough to understand that he doesn't want Sybil to discover him lying on the floor in the morning and sways over to the sofa, catching his left calf on the corner of the coffee table as he does so and swearing loudly. The windows remain open and the warm, airless room ensures that a thick fug of cigarette smoke hovers above him, the smell permeating his nostrils and causing him to cough in tribute. His final thought before oblivion is one of self-loathing.

Awakening as the morning sunlight crawls across his face, he experiences the all too familiar sensation of pounding head and dry throat - a sour taste of whisky mixed with stale ash at the back of his throat and the customary sense of shame with which he is commonly acquainted. He squints at a moving shadow before realising that Sybil is passing across the room, coming to a halt before him and finally blocking the sun from his eyes.

"Don't…" he attempts to articulate, but hears only a deep throated growl emitting from his throat before closing his eyes in preparation for her judgement.

There's a brief pause before the sound of her pyjamas rustling and the familiar click of her left knee as she bends down – by opening his eyes just a fraction, he can see her kneeling next to his face, a hand closing gently over one of his.

"Oh darling…talk to me…" she begs softly and within her quiet pitch, he can hear the full extent of her love for him. In a moment of unexpected clarity, he suddenly appreciates that her devotion is unconditional – certainly up to a point anyway. He wouldn't expect her to feel the same way if he was unfaithful or hit her for example, but she's not going to spurn him on the basis of one night's reversal to previous dark habits in an effort to block the pain of his sister's senseless murder. The effort of understanding that he has secured her love in a contrasting spiral to Emma's hold on life is overwhelming and tears begin to prick at his eyes. It's a momentous effort to move into an upright position, but he manages to swing his legs down onto the floor and push himself up using the hand Sybil isn't continuing to tightly grasp. He looks down at her expression – a combination of concern, adoration and grief - and for the first time since his father died, Tom begins to sob.

He cries for the memory of Emma and her loss from his life, for the wasted months of searching in the vain hope that he or the police might find her and bring her safely home, for the years he's misspent in an attempt to avoid confronting the pain of his childhood, the relationships he's lost, destroyed or thrown away and he cries for Sybil – the fact she believed in him when he had lost any sight of hope, that he can now spot a tunnel of light leading from his dark shadows of anguish and understands that it represents his future. And while he cries, Sybil holds him tightly, seemingly able to absorb his thoughts and emotions as if by osmosis - all the words he is unable to adequately express while she simply whispers "I know."

ooOoo

Funerals are surely not supposed to take place on gloriously warm, sunny days, but in a way the climate has backed Tom's side of the argument that they should celebrate Emma's life and not simply mourn her loss. Margaret seems to want to wallow wholeheartedly in her misery – and he doesn't blame her for that, how can he fully appreciate the loss of one's child? – but he has tried to meet her half way in an effort to ease the weight of grief and despondency for the congregation. Friends are flying in from around the world to remember his sister and he wants the event to present an opportunity in which they can commemorate her life and not solely converge on the violent and distressing manner in which it ended.

There will be no full mass, but Margaret chooses two hymns and reluctantly concedes to Tom's request for an Avril Lavigne track to be played – he can remember Emma's grungy teenage homage to the singer and regardless of her more sophisticated tastes in recent years, is struck by how apt the lyrics to 'Slipped Away'** have now become. Mourners will wear black, but are requested to bring only a single flower to lay on Emma's coffin in the churchyard.

Margaret leads the procession into the church - frail, hesitant steps supported equally by David and Tom. Behind them Kieran and Amy follow hand in hand, while Sybil and Gwen are amidst the throng of extended family and friends to their rear. Tom had wanted Sybil to walk alongside him, however she had overruled him with quiet determination.

"I'm not family. Your mother wouldn't think it was right and for once, I'm on her side. We're not married, it wouldn't be appropriate."

'_Married'_ – that word is dangling over them once again and the image makes him smile involuntarily, despite today's sorrowful circumstances. He can't think about it with any gravity at the moment, but it's not an unwelcome suggestion, no matter how unintentionally the subject has been raised. After his whisky binge, they had spent most of the day talking – crying frequently, but laughing too, sharing anecdotes about Emma, Tom relating some half-forgotten memories from her childhood - events that he now wants to hold fast and retain.

He had audibly revisited his regrets and while Sybil listened earnestly, she would not allow any suggestion that they should weigh him down indefinitely.

"We all have regrets…" she had said gravely "…I wish my last words to her hadn't been 'you'll get yourself a reputation' when she told me she was going out again the following evening. God almighty, how apt that turned out to be! But I don't think she took any offence by it – if she's looking down on me now, that won't be what binds her to me. There will be other, more positive things – we didn't do big, in-depth talks as you know, but we had some fun evenings…a good giggle. I think that's what she'd hold on to from our relationship."

He had nodded with a mixture of agreement and hope, while Sybil concluded with her summary. "And I know you regret that you didn't make more of an effort with her in recent years, but again I don't think that would be her primary impression of you. She'd remember the big brother she adored growing up, the trip to Sunnycove beach, all the things you did together when she was younger, you helping her move in here, going for a drink together last summer…"

"It's not much though, is it? For twenty-four years." he had muttered and she shook her head in firm disagreement.

"It's enough. And you couldn't have changed anything, you have to understand that."

"I could have changed a lot…I could have seen a lot more of her, contacted her more…"

"I don't mean that…" she had interrupted "You couldn't have changed what ultimately happened, Tom. I understand that you wish you'd done things differently, but regardless of that, nothing would have stopped Emma from dying that day. We still don't know the details of how or why, but _you_ are not responsible for her death."

Sometimes it takes another's clarity of mind to release one's demons and he's grateful that it's Sybil who has offered him liberation. He can shoulder his regrets over time, but finally appreciates that he need never carry an interminable burden of blame.

The service is moving and a fitting tribute. The priest has known Emma since she was a teenager and includes his own memories to those provided by her family. Tom manages to contain his emotions sufficiently in order to provide a moving eulogy which offers quotes from both of his parents – Patrick Branson may not be a physical presence within the church, but Tom can remember the joy that Emma brought into his life during her infrequent visits and is able to convey this without offending any sensibilities his mother may retain. Finally, there's a joint tribute from Emma's friend Fiona, now home after her gap year in Australia and his sister's ex-boyfriend Donal - leaving every member of the congregation in tears with their defiant commemoration of the girl they knew, in contrast to the image currently served to the general public. Tom can't help but think that it would be easy for Donal to feel humiliated by the publicity generated by Emma's subsequent love life, but his accolade to her is a declaration of unending friendship and joy.

The church is overflowing, with many friends forced to stand at the rear and local residents listening over loud speakers outside in the grounds. Tom appreciates the impulsion of many to attach themselves to an event with which they have only a tenuous link, but on the whole he believes in the sincerity shown to the family by those who live nearby. The burial takes almost an hour, as a miscellany of brightly coloured flowers is dropped into the grave one by one and mourners whisper their personal farewells. Tears are entwined with smiles, happy memories interlaced with a desire for justice, but Tom's overriding memory of the day is an appreciation of how much Emma was loved.

ooOoo

A fortnight later, Ashram Khan informs Tom that a drug dealer named Ryan Molloy – a former resident of his own Dublin suburb – has confessed to being paid to shoot Emma. He's currently on remand at Wandsworth Prison and being treated for his addiction, but the admission was made during the convulsing consequences of his treatment and the police are uncertain whether or not there's any truth to the disclosure. Ryan knew Emma during their teenage years and the notoriety from being associated with such a high profile case will boost his esteem within the prison community. Once clean and fully conscious, he refuses to provide any further information, remaining silent and sullen in the face of additional questioning.

Tom's hopeful of this development providing an effective break in the investigation, although he balances optimism with an inherent distrust of the prisoner's motives. His mother claims that the Molloy family have become notorious in the area over recent years – four sons either convicted or under suspicion of illegal activity on either side of the Irish Sea. Yet friends claim that Ryan was sweet on Emma ten years earlier and that he has displayed noticeable distress at her disappearance over the last few months.

ooOoo

A phone call is made in seclusion from a mobile in Hong Kong.

"You need to make sure that Ryan Molloy keeps quiet. He could derail the entire process. We can't take the risk."

"What do you want me to arrange to ensure his silence?" is the hesitant reply.

There's a barely audible sigh. "Just do whatever is needed"

* * *

** Slipped Away by Avril Lavigne

I miss you, miss you so bad - I don't forget you, oh it's so sad -I hope you can hear me -I remember it clearly The day you slipped away -Was the day I found it won't be the same –Oh

I didn't get around to kiss you -Goodbye on the hand-I wish that I could see you again-I know that I can't

Oh-I hope you can hear me cause I remember it clearly-The day you slipped away-Was the day I found it won't be the same-Oh

I had my wake up -Won't you wake up -I keep asking why-And I can't take it -It wasn't fake -It happened, you passed by

Now you are gone, now you are gone -There you go, there you go-Somewhere I can't bring you back -Now you are gone, now you are gone -There you go, there you go, -Somewhere you're not coming back

The day you slipped away -Was the day I found it won't be the same no.-The day you slipped away-Was the day that I found it won't be the same, oh

I miss you

_**Author's note: I do intend to leave this story on an optimistic note, so hope you will stick with me through the final chapter and epilogue, even if I've disappointed you with Emma's death. Thank you as always.**_


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